The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
The sun had already set, and a crowd had gathered in the bottom level of an abandoned parking garage. Part of it had been chalked off, and barriers had been moved to accommodate the...event. The crowd was thirsty for blood, as noted by the first few fights of the evening, and even Blaine had bet on some of the previous events and made a little extra cash. Then, he took his winnings and bet them all on the next fight. Who'd he put his money on? Why, himself, of course.
He took his jacket off, handing it to the tall, bald man who was with him, and then taking off his muscle shirt and putting on his black gloves. He took his place in the ring, his long hair hanging down to his shoulders as his intense blue eyes stared down his opponent. Maybe five to ten pounds lighter than himself, buzzed cut, stood about 6'3, so they were the exact same fight. On paper, things looked good. He would have this in the bag, though. After all, he had something the other guy didn't have. It was also the reason he was standing shirtless in a parking garage in New York City in December.
"Alright! It's the fight we've all been waiting for. Over here, we got the Painkiller!" Blaine raised his hand, not really showboating to the crowd, and his eyes stayed fixed on his opponent. "And over here, Rod the Bod! You know the rules fellas. Beat the hell out of each other til someone can't fight anymore or cries uncle."
Blaine nodded, touching gloves with his opponent, and then taking his stance, waiting on the bell like a dog waiting for his leash to be unhooked.
Blaine walked down the street after getting out of the cab; he never had them take him right to his destination. He knew he was paranoid, but in his mind, he had every right to be. In his mind, he did, anyway. He walked down the sidewalk, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. He made sure his face was free of bruises or scrapes; after all, he was going to ask about a job. A friend of his had heard of a decent bar, so he wanted to make a good first impression. He just hoped they were hiring.
He walked into the Trasheteria before it got really busy, but they were just starting to open. He looked around, trying to pick out someone who looked like a boss or manager. Or at least someone who looked like they knew what the hell they were talking about. He walked up to the bar, seeing someone there working.
"Hey, my name's Blaine Sinclaire. Do you know if this place needs a bouncer or some form of security?" he asked, leaning on the bar. His hair wasn't tied back; it was just sort of hanging there. He may not have looked professional, but hey; he wasn't looking for a desk job. He was looking to make money by being intimidating and keeping people straight, and being himself would be his best bet there.
Blaine was caught up in his training, albeit begrudgingly; as he'd said, he preferred hitting things with the ability to hit back. Then again, when one couldn't feel, I guess things like being punched in the face--or cut by an elbow--didn't really matter so much.
"You might want to get that looked at..." Eight words that Blaine had heard countless times over the past twenty-four years, and every time they were said in his vicinity, they were aimed at him, so his ears picked up on the phrase rather quickly. As he looked over to the redhead to say a thank you, he noticed the blood on the floor, and all over his white muscle shirt.
"Well, ****..." he grumbled, taking off the shirt. Then, his free hand reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a small mirror not unlike the kind most women kept in their purse. With one hand, he looked in the mirror, while the other hand put the shirt on the wound, pressing it against his face. Even after all this time, it was a weird experience. All he could do was press down and hope he was pressing hard enough. Then, he made his way over to a nearby bench and sat down, still applying pressure.
"Hey, thanks for the heads-up," he called to the redhead, giving an appreciative nod.
It was late in the afternoon, and Blaine had left his apartment just to take a walk to the gym and blow off some steam. He'd had a rough fight the night before, and the loss was still weighing pretty big on his ego. At least he couldn't actually the beatdown that was put on him, anyway. Though, to be fair, the guy seemed like he weighed about as much as Blaine did, but once the bell rang, the guy seemed to gain 75 pounds of muscle, and Blaine was outclassed. Granted, it still took a hell of a lot for Painkiller to go down, but the fact was...he went down. And though he couldn't physically feel, his emotions and his pride took the brunt of the damage.
However, in his black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots, with his hair tied back in a ponytail and his face sporting a rather nasty bruise, he looked like quite the force to be reckoned with. He briskly walked down the sidewalk, occasionally brushing shoulders with people. But for one, he didn't care; he couldn't feel them. And on top of that, not many people would dare cross someone who looked like him.
He gave a small shrug. "Figures," he said dryly. "Few people have ever heard of me, and even fewer are fans. I won a fight with my arm snapped clean in two. How much more badass could that have gotten? But I guess you can be pro-Mutant or pro-MMA, not both." He gave a small laugh at his joke, and then Ifreet removed his shades to reveal his eyes.
"I am, for the most part, but damn that looks badass..."
"You know better than that, Jo-Jo" Blaine replied with a smirk, dodging a punch and delivering one of his own to the bald guy he was sparring with, which landed square on the jaw.
"I thought they called you Painless Blaine because you seemed to feel no pain, not because you hit like a pansy~" Joe teased back; he stood right at Blaine's height, but was a good ten pounds lighter, attempting to hit Blaine's knee, but the long-haired fighter was too quick, catching the knee, taking him down, and then delivering a rain of blows.
"Okay, okay," he sputtered as Blaine reached down to help him up. "Shame they didn't let you fight in the big leagues, bro."
"Yeah...But even if they did now, I'm gettin' too old for all that. I do good to hang like I do in the underground."
"Yeah, but I'll bet on ya til the day you die. Let's go hit the punching bag."
"You know I hate those. They can't hit back..." He hopped out of the sparring ring, making his way over to a large punching bag and delivering punch after punch, then sidestepping and unloading again. He didn't realize that in their sparring, he'd accidentally caught an elbow under his eye, and his cheek was bleeding. He kept punching, not even noticing. Maybe it was one of the blessings of being unable to feel; or maybe it was more of a curse.
"Yeah, it has its perks, but it sucks sometimes, too. I can't feel heat, but it'll burn the hell out of me still. There's no feeling, but it still does its job." He gave a chuckle. "My only question is...which side of that argument were they on? Mutants having an unfair edge, or just let the kid fight?" He had to smirk at that one; that fight was about twelve years ago. In fact, if they'd have let him in professional fighting, he'd probably be getting ready to retire by now.
"Hey, at least you have some control over yours," Blaine noted. "Mine never turns off." Taking a breath, he figured he should at least explain what made him a mutant. After all, by now it was only fair.
"I can't feel. Pain, temperature, not even the wind that's blowin' right now...Actually tried to use it to become an MMA fighter. Did damn good too, til I got stuck on the wrong side of an armbar that snapped my arm in two and I didn't even flinch. I went on to win by knockout, but by then everybody knew I wasn't exactly human. Through everything out the window." He gave a chuckle. "But I held that broken arm as high as I could and wore the biggest ****-eating grin I could muster." He didn't always get to tell that story, but he sorta liked when he did. After all, Painless Blaine Sinclaire never became a household name, and someone had to spin the tale.
Blaine had to admit he had trouble reading this guy, but he wasn't known for reading into jokes or bluffs. The only psychology he was any good at was getting into some guy's head before and during a fight. Okay, now the guy was really showing off, but he had to admit, that was an interesting power he had there. He did make a note of the sprite's appearance; that would make a neat sketch for later.
"Some of us aren't able to show off as easily," he replied somewhat dryly. "How long'd it take ya to learn that, anyway?" he asked, somewhat intrigued. He kind of wondered what the flame felt like to Ifreet, but he figured that would be a weird question to ask, let alone explain.
"Won't happen again," he said simply, relaxed yet alert. After all...not too much good walked the streets after midnight. And then, the guy used his thumb for a lighter, and Blaine gave a low whistle, a small grin finding its way to his mouth. Some guys have all the luck," he thought to himself. Sometimes he wished he had a mutation that could be shown off. While technically, he could, there was no way to do it without being weird.
"Neat trick," he said with a nod. "You can call me Painkiller." He was pretty certain Ifreet wasn't the guy's real name, so Blaine decided to use a nickname as well. Occasionally, he looked over his shoulder as the cool night breeze blew through his long hair, his blue eyes almost thoughtful as he did so.
Curious, Blaine stopped and turned around, quirking a brow at the uh...gentleman. Punchy? That was a new one; he had to give him credit for that. Instinctively, he found himself sizing the guy up from a distance. After all, he'd just gotten done with his....alternative source of income, so he was already a little on edge. But fighting did that to a guy, and really, after the incident--what was it ten years ago now?--he couldn't get a job as an up-and-up fighter, so...he did what he had to do.
"Sorry about that, man," he said calmly as he walked back to the guy. "Didn't see ya there." He sort of stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets; his way of saying he wasn't necessarily looking for trouble.
It was late, and Blaine was tired, though it didn't really bother him as much as most other people. His mutation meant he felt tired, but he didn't get any of the aches and pains that went with it. Walking down the sidewalk, he pulled the zipper up on his leather jacket because other people seemed to be cold, and he didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb.
Well, no more than a guy with a recently bloodied nose would normally stick out, anyway. It was that it'd happened recently--less than an hour ago--in fact, and his knuckles showed that he gave as good as he got--if not better. His long brown hair sort of blew in the wind, and he found himself wishing for the love of God that he could actually feel it. But on the other hand, if he felt the breeze, then the rest of him would hurt like hell, and he'd rather not have that.
Lost in his thoughts, his shoulder bumped some guy with a cigarette, but Blaine really didn't seem to notice as he kept walking, just trying to get home.
Character's full name: Blaine Matthew Sinclaire Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: Painless Blaine, “Painkiller” Gender: Male Age: 36 Date of Birth: 12/7/81 Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Maine Nationality: American Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: European, mostly
Appearance
Hair color and style: Dark, usually about shoulder length Skin Tone: Tan Eye Color: Blue Height: About 6’3 Build: Athletic Visible mutation: N/A Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings:He’s got assorted scars on his body, along with a number of tattoos on his chest and back. Other features: N/A
Everyday clothing style: Tee shirt, jeans, boots, leather jacket if needed Uniform:None Sleepwear: Nothing Miscellaneous clothing: N/A
Character
Personality: Blaine sees himself as more of the strong silent type. He keeps his emotions close to his chest, and he’s not keen on letting anyone in. He’s a tough guy who doesn’t let anything get to him, and he doesn’t take anything off of anybody. He’s as solid as a rock, and as cold as ice.
At least, that’s what Blaine wants people to think. He hides his inner pain, his fears and his weaknesses behind a tough guy persona. While he is pretty tough, he’s not invincible, and he’s definitely not as cold or as hard as he lets on. While usually level-headed, he can’t stand seeing someone bullying or hurting someone weaker than them. His temper, though controlled for the most part, can be quite explosive. He’s also got a fierce protective streak.
When he’s not working or trying to drown his problems, Blaine sits at home, looking out of his window with a pencil and sketchbook, drawing portraits of people and sometimes landscapes, but just to unwind. He likes the simpler things in life: beer, some relaxing music and friendly company. He portrays himself as a fearless, heartless individual, but in the end, he’s a dreamer, an artist, and he just wants to bring out some good in this dark, dismal world.
Hobbies/ Interests: Drinking, Gym, drawing Job or part time job and description: Former amateur/semi-pro MMA fighter, currently works as a bouncer and fights on the….less than legal circuit. Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Someone sneaking up on him with bad intentions. Also, the dark; the kind of pitch dark where you can’t see your hand in front of your face. Though not technically an outright ‘fear,’ slugs give him the creeps. Special talents: Athletic, skilled fighter, decent artist
Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other: Best described as chaotic good. His heart is in the right place, but his methods are less than orthodox, and he doesn’t always adhere to the law.
Mutations
Mutation description: Blaine can’t physically feel anything; temperature, wounds, the wind in his hair, or even a kiss. He can feel just enough to keep his balance and to know when he’s holding something, but that may just be his brain compensating. Strengths: Without a pain threshold, injuries don’t usually hold him back, unless it’s something like a broken bone or a restraint. He can keep going because there’s no pain there to tell him not to. Weaknesses and Limitations: He’s still just a mortal, and he has no ability to heal beyond the normal human means. Anything fatal would still kill him, he’d just meet a painless end, though he still can suffer fatigue. Being unable to feel also robs him of intimacy and things like the breeze on your face that other people take for granted.
Also, Blaine has to carefully judge each injury; since he can’t feel, he has trouble gauging the severity of injuries. Similarly, he has to pay attention to the weather so he’ll know whether to bring a jacket.
Physical Abilities
General Physical Capabilities: Blaine is strong and agile, with decent stamina to boot, due to his days as a fighter. Fighting Style: Trained in generic mixed martial arts, Blaine is a striker first and foremost, preferring to stand and slug it out with his opponent. His mutation helps him take a beating, while his training helps him give one. Fighting Style Pros/Cons: Pros: He’s got a variety of strikes and ways to take down an opponent, and he can take far more punishment than the average human.
Cons: He can be outmaneuvered, especially by someone trained in takedowns or submissions. Since he can’t feel, a big weakness would be to get behind him.
History Of Your Character Blaine was born to Alec and Olivia Sinclaire, the middle child of three. He had an older brother named Allister, and a younger sister named Candace. They were spaced close enough in age that they usually got a long pretty well, and he lived a pretty decent life. Blaine loved sports and art, and always did pretty well in school. He wasn’t popular, but he wasn’t bullied, either.
When he was twelve, he was at school one day and someone accidentally slammed his hand in a locker, breaking it. However, Blaine didn’t even seem to notice, despite the loud noise and the hand being obviously broken. It was this day that Blaine discovered his double-edged sword of a gift, and the day the bullying started.
All through school, he would have to deal with bullying and torment from the other kids, and his siblings—though they still loved him—were a bit scared of his new abilities. To combat the bullies, Blaine learned to fight, taking karate classes as early as thirteen, while still maintaining his grades. The open bullying turned into hushed whispers and dares, but he never really made any friends.
When he finally graduated, Blaine decided to put his “gift” to good use, and he left for Vegas, taking up odd jobs as he trained to be a professional fighter. He worked his way up the ladder, eventually earning the name Painless Blaine, because he “seemed to feel no pain at all.” Eventually, he made it to a semi-pro level, and his family would come to his events to watch him fight. All the while, he kept his mutation a secret.
Then, one fateful night, when he was twenty-three, he had his chance at the big-time. Scouts were there to watch him fight, and if they liked what they saw, he’d be earning the big money. However, during the fight, the guy got behind him and managed to take him down and put him in a submission hold, effectively snapping his arm. Using the surprise to his advantage, Blaine managed to work his way out and knock the guy out with one punch while he was still gawking at what happened. However, his secret was out, and he was blackballed from professional fighting forever; his mutation was deemed an ‘unfair advantage.’
Taking what money he had, he moved to New York, calling in the favor of an old friend to work as a bouncer, and fighting in a less-than-savory circuit on the side. As the years went by, Blaine found himself missing the ability to feel things like a kiss on the cheek, or the wind on your face, or the cool water of a summer rain…
Roleplay What’s your OOC alias?: Fishy Where did you learn about this site?: Google Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: Jay Fisher Sample RP:
Blaine sat in front of his apartment window, staring out onto the cityscape below as the sun began to set. An old sketchbook on his lap, he just flipped through each page, focusing on each picture. He passed portraits of people he had seen, animals, and even landscapes he found pretty. Coming across an old one, he frowned, looking at the image of a young man in a pair of trunks holding up a title belt. In one swift motion, he tore the page out and tossed it in the trash.
Then, he looked back at the clock and stood to his feet, cursing as he saw little drops of blood trail from his finger to the floor. Paper cut. Not a bad one, but…he really didn’t understand the concept of a ‘bad’ injury. Wiping it up, he then went to the closet, grabbing his jacket and a pair of black gloves that hung next to it. Then, he made his way out the door. When he returned, he would be beaten and bloody, but more than likely several hundred dollars richer.
It may not have been a glamorous way of life, but it was his. And Blain “Painkiller” Sinclaire took care of what was his.
