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 burnt priest nodded solemnly at the man's statement. "And you came to me because you believe that is the best way to do god's will? I too, have faith that this is true." He rounded a corner, and casually stepped into an alley way, looking back at wick and smiling softly.
He placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked him directly in the eye. "faith and devotion are all a man needs to find direction. I respect you for seeking me out. Know, though, that if you seek to devote yourself to the lord, truly, you must show that devotions in things both great..." He stepped to the wall next to an old metal door as he talked, pulling a key ring, and unlocking it.
"And small." He finished the statement and he opened the door, revealing a busy kitchen tied to a warm atmosphere filled to the brim with faith.
As he stepped in he was greeted with calls from across the kitchen, and he replied in kind. "Joseph! Great to see you! Arnold, third time you're here this week! I hope you're keeping to your studies as well. Alina! Great to see you feeling better. Ah! Sister Martina! Just who I wanted to see! This is he, the gentleman I spoke to you about earlier. He assures me he's brought his own gloves and he's good with his hands!" The portly woman looked Wick up and down, smiling and looking to the priest. "I see the father roped you in. It's always a challenge to find volunteers on this side of town. We appreciate your help mister..." The father didn't fill the introductory glance, instead smiling and staring intently at Wick as he was prompted to introduce himself.
The woman spoke up again after introductions were completed, and pointed to an empty station. "We'll have you two cutting up the veggies to start. The boys will pass you peeled potatoes and peppers, The father can guide you on how big to cut them. We serve at least 600, so please, quantity over perfection."
The father was already waving Wick over, reaching into his pockets to pull out a pair of gloves and pull them on before washing them at the nearby wash station.
"Once a week at least I give my time to Sister Martina's soup kitchen." He spoke as he scrubbed. "I trust you don't mind helping out."
The father smiled a bit, tilting his burnt features to the side a bit in response to the pardoning of his lateness, and his statement. "Please, you do me too much credit. I simply lost track of time." He was prepared. "Splendid, it can be messy business, this, but it's for the good of man." He nodded as the began their journey.
"I want to know more about you, my child. Where are you from? What drives you to do god's work?" He wasn't delving into specifics. He watched the man closely; his presentation was stoic, but the signs of emotional reactions where there, just muted. He was an interesting man, already, and the father hadn't even been able to glean much more than observation had told him.
Here was a consummate professional; an awkward man with a presentation and mental frame work as hard as stone, and a strong belief in the lord.
The perfect servant to god's will.
Or, an excellent actor. He'd met his fair share back when he'd been assembling bombs to put in English tea shops for the IRA.
He took a left at the closest cross street, and started walking. "Just a few blocks away. I hope that you are good with your hands."
Service had gone well. His choice words had really pulled some of the less dedicated worshipers deeper into faith, he could feel it. As they let the faith into them more, he knew them to be more ready to shape into more effective warriors for god's work.
Vastly important to the shaping of people into true believers was Sunday School. He, of course, was not a teacher, and thus only worked through the lesson plans with those who taught. Everything was approved by him, and he talked to the teachers to get updates on the students.
Today, in particular, it seemed his newest student may have been having a bit of a tough time. The teacher had noticed her looking uncomfortable. Still, he's been planning to speak with her after class anyway. Hence, why he'd told her parents school ended 30 minutes later than it did.
He finished up some paperwork in his office, and then grabbed up his good book.
He found her relatively quickly, speaking up in his gravely tone. "Ah, Eisley, there you are my dear." He crouched before her. "How was your first day of Sunday School?"
Patient prep. Careful footwork. Hours. Simply Hours of using and abusing connections, aquiring equipment. Placing ones self perfectly.
In stark juxtaposition, the priest watched the clock after his youth group, made a short call to Sister Martina, and then walked out to meet a summoned ride share to the general area.After picking up coffee on the way he was a few minutes late. The catholic priest, burns and all, walked down the street, occasionally waving at people he knew by name.
"Chris. Evenin. Stay warm out here! Always in a T. Insanity." He made it past the construction area, nodding at the two beanied men who walked past. "Evan, Joseph." He stopped to talk for a moment, laughed a few times, and then patted one on the shoulder, saying his goodbyes, and walking up to the meeting location.
"Terribly sorry, my son. Got caught up in a few too many good conversations on the way. Seems to happen to me. Maybe it's the clothing choice?" He gestured to the priest regalia on his form. "I take it you came prepared to work. Well rested? Gloves?" He gave him a once over.
"Excellent. Are you ready to do god's work, then?" He turned and started walking down the street. "Hope you don't mind, I wanted to start a bit out of the way. Talk for a bit." He assumed the man was following. He seemed eager, after all.
Was he imagining the tense atmosphere in the air as the man began to confess. Odd, he'd heard many confessions in his time. This one had a strange feeling to it. Like... he was letting out a tension he didn't often do. One thing for sure, he was definitely catholic.
He listened quietly as the man listed his sins. The first, standard, taking the lords name in vain was indeed a sin. It was good that he remembered it, and took it with him to confession; the father would have done the same. His hands eased away from the weapon. A brief prayer would suffice for penance.
He worked on the Sabbath. His last confession was thursday, so he'd missed his sunday service after. He could tell it pained the man to miss a service... He would have to speak to the lord from his heart to find forgiveness within himself.
He lied... though his duty demanded it. Perhaps he was a lawyer. An armed lawyer. Not likely, lawyers were cowards, and cowards didn't hide their weapons so well. A coward wanted you to know he was armed, even if he didn't know it. No, this man was something else.
He'd failed his neighbor's need. He would need to seek penance with her.
His ear tilted toward the grate as the man spoke his last confession. His fist slowly released from the weapon, and he leaned his back against the wall of the small booth. He sat silent for a moment.
His voice replied in a calm, even tone.
"All is forgiven, my child. I give thee absolution of thine sins, for the greater of god's work is yet to be done." There was a light click...
And then the sound of a pen on paper. A small scrap torn from a notepad fell through the grate of the confessional.
Written on it was a time, and a location, with no context. It was a small shipping outlet on the docks in a worse for wear slum area.
"Go with gods will, my son." A light peeked through the grate as the door opened, and shut once more.
The father's smile closed, and he looked back to Eisley with a nod, before turning to Gerik and bowing a little.
"That works perfectly for me, sir. I look forward to seeing her next week."
He stepped back, returning Eisley to her father's care once more. "Looks like i'll have you in next week for school after all!" He crouched down a bit to be at eye level once more. "I trust you won't be forgetting what we talked about. Honor thy father. I look forward to teaching you, Eisley."
He stood once more, and shook her father and grand father's hands before stepping off to interact with the other families more. He looked forward to their further contributions in the mean time.
"I'm sure you will, my dear" He patted her head gently when she vowed to remember to honor her father.
The priest seemed a bit taken aback when her father turned down the offer to sunday school. "Sure some time out of the house would benefit the girl." He stepped forward, leaning in a bit to talk to the two without Eisley hearing. "I could help bestow upon her the importance of honoring her father's wishes. Living by the commandments makes for a more... tempered self, don't you agree?" He looked back to Eisley and smiled, turning back.
"If you dropped her off here, you have my word that she would be here when you get back, and softer in your hands for it." He nodded in ernest before stepping back, looking to the grand father, the more devout of the two to seal the deal.
It was practical to want the child in his teachings. Bonding her to the church more would mean more money, and it would mean the family would be more attached as well. All of the faithful's presences strengthened the church. If they attended more for this, it would be a victory.
Also, she was adorable. A good, human girl to build in the eyes of god. There was so much he could teach a blank slate like her.
His bemused smile grew as she panicked a little at the thought of a dirty spirit. "There is a time and a place for confession, my dear. I would be a good person to tell, though, yes."
He listened to her sa she spoke, still smiling. "stealing when there is a need and stealing when there isn't are two different sins. It seems to me you had no choice, and you planned to return the favor. You sound noble to me, if anything, Eisley. God will forgive you for such things as long as your heart remains true."
He chuckled when she talked about the sins of her parents. "Your father's confessions are his own. Remember, the sins of others are for them to confess. It's important that they get the opportunity. Your father is a good man, though he has to act strong because of his job. You'll come to know this with time. Though remember, one of the commandments is to honor thy father. Be good to him and he will be good to you." He paused for a second and then tilted his head. "Mr. Rogers. Ah, the neighborhood. I watched that show as a boy. Lovely show. Taught a lot of strong, christian morals. Mr. Rogers was a wonderful man."
A twinkle formed in his eye when she perked up at the thought of sunday school. What a gem, she was. In the rough, but she could be cut so to fit any facet. "I'm sure we can change his mind together, if you'd lke that."
A slightly pained look came to his face at the mention of the deceased son of Garik. "Alen was a good man. Your father loved him very much, and still hurts greatly from his loss. Better than you, though, I cannot say he was. Different. You cannot try to be like him, young Eisley, but you can be the best you can. Your father's affection will come if you simply act in a way that would make god proud. Ah, your father is coming back. Shall we ask about Sunday school? Remember to be polite!" He patted her shoulder, and then stood as her father approached once more.
"Ahh, Garik! Your daughter is truly a wonderful little girl! Tell me she'll be able to attend Sunday School with the other kids!"
She was a simple one, wasn't she? Meek. Blessed was she, indeed. So unlike her father. It caught his attention. She didn't even know what a sin was. He gave her a bemused smile, and spoke simply.
"In a way. All lies are sins... but not all sins are lies. To sin is to break one of the rules of god. The ten commandments. Do not worship other gods, do not make false idols of worship, do not speak the lords name in vain, keep the sabbath day holy, honor your father and mother, do not murder, do not cheat, do not steal, do not lie, do not be jealous. All of these things are sins. Should you commit them, you must confess in order to be clean of spirit once more. " He slowly reached out a hand to place it gently on her shoulder.
"Some sins are more grave than others. Some take more work to make better."
She asked about the lesson he learned, and he looked up, and then back at the soft, warm light coming through the stained glass at the back of the church, and then back at her. "I learned to be stronger in my conviction. The same flame that burnt me ignited my faith brightly enough to shine it on others. I thank the lord for this gift every day in my prayers."
He nodded slowly at her thoughts on his sermon. "I understand you were lost as well... Your father was very happy to have found you. There are other ways to be lost, though... That I mentioned is about being found by god once more. Saved by his grace." He chuckled again at her mention of having to think before speaking. "True, but deeper thought makes better words, young miss. I speak to god every night, as should you. You will not hear his voice back, but rather feel his warmth, and know your path is true. The lord works in mysterious ways that are not always ovbious." He looked over to her father, on the phone in the corner of the church.
"I could teach you more, should you decide to join us at sunday school lessons. Would you be interested, Eisley?"
There was a long moment of pause, followed by the muted sound of a door opening and closing gently.
"In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit, amen." The sound of an old book opening, and a bookmark being picked.
"But now apart from the law the righteousness of God has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus."
A deep, grating voice with an unmistakable northern irish dialect read out the verses from romans 3, the sound of an old book closing drifted into the closed confession booth.
"All men are welcome in the eyes of god. May his mercy touch your heart so that you may know your sins, and have the courage to confess."
He'd seen the man enter. He knew not who he was, though he could tell that he was armed. Armed, so perhaps not a demon. He'd been sure to pass within ten feet of the man when he'd walked in. Often, their kind had some form of reaction when being near him and his holy aura. This man did not. It did not mean he was not one of them, but it meant it wasn't as likely.
Who was he? Why was he here?
A hand slowly drifted to the sawed off double barreled CZ Redhead he kept inside the door jam of the confessional booth, one of many weapons known only to the faithful in the church. He hadn't been active enough to be investigated already, had he? Had he made a mistake so soon?
He was used to the sort of hesitance that children seemed to have meeting someone new, especially ones with a face like his. He smiled still. "Oh, dear, you can call me father. Most do." He noticed her confusion at the concept. She'd never attented church before? Maybe. He had much to teach her, then!
Her guardians excused themselves, and he nodded to them, aiming to continue his conversation and hold her attention so that she didn't wander off. It had been difficult convincing them to bring her, but it would pay off if he endeared her to them through the church. That would certainly mean more money.
"You see, I often help the people here, and give them advice. Listen to them confess their sins. In that way, I am like a father figure to them. So they call me father." He smiled again. "You may do the same."
He listened patiently when she pointed out his eye. Goodness, that was adorable, wasn't it? A bit insensitive, but in a child-like, unaware way.
"It is. Remember, though, a clear marbel has its uses. For one, you can see through it." He winked. "This one was injured years ago... like your ear, I think. Still, I thank the lord for the experienvce of getting it; it was a strong lesson to learn." He'd talked to her father a bit, and the head tilt had stood out during the sermon, for the times she'd allowed herself to. She showed a surprising amount of restraint for someone her age.
"What did you think of the sermon, Eisley?" He gave her an encouraging smile.
The service was already underway. It was a beautiful Sunday morning; the soft light of the sun just past dawn shone through the stained glass behind the sermon mount. It, and the soft, warm lighting within illuminated the podium behind which stood a man who might have been a frightful sight were it not for the serene look on his face.
He was bathed in god's light. It was a forgiving light that soothed the often painful scars on his face and upper body. Everyone was getting seated. Keirnan scanned the crowd, his faithful flock, nodding here or there as people settled.
Once he felt the room was ready, the tension was starting to build. He spoke, his voice, ravaged by flame, was surprisingly soft.
"Grace."
He stared for a moment, letting the word soak in to the expectant crowd.
"In gods grace, we all stand. His light washes over us all. I look upon you all, the faithful and I see grace in this crowd. I see struggle, I do. I see lapses in faith, and I see lapses in grace. But in the words of levitticus, God's mercy and grace are new each morning." He stepped back from the podium, and then around it, stepping forward to be closer to the edge of the raised platform, looking across the crows to make eye contact with those that would look away, his clear eye kind, his damaged eye peircing through the vale.
"What does he mean by this? I am here to tell you... God accepts that we are all fallible. We are, after all, only human. Each morning, it is up to us to return to faith. Return to grace. Even if we falter. Even if we find ourselves lost."
He stopped before a certain family, looking down to the father, and smiling. "It is up to us to let god's grace find us once more." He looked to the little girl with him, and then to the grandfather, nodding with respect. "One should not be ashamed that they were lost. Rejoice in being found. There is that great old hymn, I'm sure you have all heard. Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me..." He stepped back to the altar, smiling to his flock.
"I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now... I see."
The shepard would preach further, talking on a variety of subjects. The subject of humanity seemed to be a focus. What it meant to be human, what it meant to be faithful. And then it came to a close. Everyone started stirring, scattering, donating, catching his attention to thank him for his service. He made the time for each and every one of them. They were, after all, his sons and daughters, all of them.
He came to a big donor, and made sure to make extra time. "Ahh, Garik. Wonderful to see you and your family here! Goodness! Is this that lovely daughter you mentioned?" They'd put in extra money today in order to help sell faith to their waylaid daughter. Now, he wasn't the greedy type, mind you, but the donors kept the roof above the head, the soup kitchen going, and allowed great charitable acts.. He'd actually modeled the front of the sermon to catch her attention. Hopefully it worked. He would see.
He crouched a bit, holding out a hand to shake. "Wonderful to meet you, dear. I'm Father McCallan"
Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Belfast, Ireland
Nationality: Irish
Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: Irish
Appearance
Hair color and style: Shoulder length brown hair on one half of his head, bald and scarred on the other hald.
Skin Tone: A little more pale than when we last saw him. He spends more time in forrs.
Eye Color: One brown, one damaged and scarred white.
Height:6'
Build:Trim and fit. Built to be surprisingly mobile.
Visible mutation: N/A
Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: Most Noticably, the right side of his face and shoulder moving down the back are covered with horrible burn scars. His tattoos, depicting irish folk tales and phantoms are mostly ruined, though he still bares a flaming P on his chest, and a scarred irish flag on the back of his neck, that ironically looks like a burning flag now.
Other features: He is missing half of the ring finger on his right hand, as well as most of his pinky. The pinky has scar marks from apparent burn wounds.
Everyday clothing style: He has two major styles. During service he is in full catholic preist regalia, and when he hunts, he often wears a long, dark coat covered in flame retardent material. Beneath that he is often still dressed like a priest.
Uniform: The one the lord asks.
Sleepwear: The one the lord gave.
Miscellaneous clothing: N/A
Character
Personality: Kiernan has grown greatly in skill when it comes to employing a silver tongue. He knows how to find people that agree with him, and get them to do things they normally wouldn't do for the cause.
His prior zealotry has only magnified since the incident that left him scarred. He is now greatly certain that god placed him on this earth to lead others in ending the mutant plague. His ascendence to one of gods chosen(See:Adapteds) has only acted as proof when he was at his lowest point.
He is still every bit as clever as he was before, but now somewhat more unhinged. More willing to take risks to lead to his end goal, and more willing to lean on others to hide him while he does gods work.
He cares for other human beings like that are all his flock. It's almost alarming how quick he can go from fatherly and kindhearted to deadly after finding out he's talking to a mutant.
Hobbies/ Interests:Tinkering. Building things that will deconstruct themselves rapidly, loudly, and with a lot of pain and death involved. Reading the bible and highlighting the parts that justify what he does.
Job or part time job and description: Priest to a small chapel in down town New York. It accepts humans of all walks of life, wether it be though faith, race, sexual orientation or other social issue. Any HUMAN.
Fears/ phobias/ concerns:The fall of man. Not making a difference in the world. A pathetic death surrounded by those he loves. He wants to die a man. A proud. Human. Man.
Special talents: He is a great shot, a talented tactical mind, a grit-tested driver, and a natural at improvisation. He has learned well how to disguise himself, and act as if he belongs in places he doesn't. He can make explosives with common household chemicals and items. He has the anarchist cookbook pretty much memorized. It's almost as if this gentleman could have really gone places in life if he wasn't obsessed with blowing up people who were different than he.
Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other: In his mind, he is the greatest servant to god. He does everything he does for the betterment of man. To any mutant or reasonable person, he is completely, totally evil.
Mutations
Mutation description: Adapted 10ft range.
Physical Abilities
General Physical Capabilities: He is stronger than your typical human being, being well worked out due to an intense work out regime. He maintains a flexibility and speed above average as well.
Fighting Style: He has dabbled in many forms of martial arts, most involving the use of guns and how to employ them against someone in a way in which they cannot stop you, but he is also a fan and practitioner of some of the more popular MMA fighting styles, earning his black belt in BJJ, and several amateur boxing titles in Ireland.
Fighting Style Pros/Cons:
Pros: He's good at fighting. He is quick and unpredictable in a fist fight, understands controlling range and positioning to generate power, as well as use your opponents movement to increase damage dealt. He is brutal and to the point, and more often than not seeks to end fights quickly and fatally. He is skilled in the use of firearms in close and long range combat, and in the use of Melee weapons.
Cons: He tends to take risks that promise high rewards, but put him in greater danger. The rush of it can take him over, and leave him exposed.
History Of Your Character
Keirnan McCallan was born to Grainne and Declan McCallan, who just happened to be active members of the Provisional Irish Republican Army, back when it was still incredibly active. They'd opted to have children with the future of the movement in mind, and raised him as such, preparing their young son for a war that never came. He was taught how to survive with little resources, instructed on the use of arms and explosives, and provided the knowledge and insight on how to employ guerrilla tactics against a larger warforce without getting caught or leaving much in the way of evidence. Into his late teens he even participated in several attacks on citizens of the English empire and military personnel. Before long, though, he started to see a pattern of waning support for the cause... His parents started talking about peaceful solutions, and the IRA split into sub factions, breaking the backbone of the resistance. He no longer saw the opportunity to test himself, and his convictions he had in the past.
He delved deeper into the martial arts, Krav Maga, Brazilian Jujitsu, Wrestling, getting into countless scuffles at bars and even some professional fights. To support this lifestyle he took advantage of his natural ability to pick up on things quick, bouncing from handy-man jobs to contracting, and back again for years.
He couldn't stick around for the death of a fading movement, so he caught the next wave of increasing paramilitary clout, falling in with an increasingly popular anti-mutant group called Ireland Pure. It was there that he became obsessed with the instigation of the impending war between humans and mutants. It was the group's goal to change the opinion of the public on mutants by driving them out of safety, and getting them to lash out in public. They targeted the worst examples of mutant kind; ones they knew would fight back, and hurt others. Their campaign was largely successful for years, until a group of mutants infiltrated them, waited for the right moment, and attacked, killing most of their members, and scattering the rest.
Rather than being demoralized, Keir was more motivated than ever to win this war. He got in contact with some cousins who had immigrated to New York, and after some talk, decided that if he was going to make a real difference, it would be at the epicenter of the mutant/human crisis, NYC. He packed his bags over night, and was on a plane bright and early the next day.
From there, he took on the identity of a religious man named Amon after killing him in a back alley. He spent some time getting close to the mutant charity scene in order to set up a large scale bombing. It was a frustrating time for him, talking and interacting with so many mutants but not being able to lash out. He found himself needing a release, so he hunted down one Jamie Druckert one night. He'd watched the target carefully, and knew his powers, routine, and when he would be alone.
When it came time to encounter the mutant, he ambushed him in an alley, and quickly disabled him, lighting up a molotov cocktail to seal the deal. That was when young Jamie had a sudden growth in power, causing the flaming bottle to explode in Tash's face.
The only reason he survived that encounter was because the mutant's ability suddenly stopped working. With his opponent's power disabled he managed to finish what he'd set out to do before escaping, collapsing in a gutter, and being saved by a passerby.
After his recovery he quickly came to the conclusion that god had granted him the ability to disable mutations. It was a gift he would use to lead humanity in the ultimate holy war. The one against mutants.
Roleplay
What’s your OOC alias?:Puck
Where did you learn about this site?: Google, 11 or so years ago >.>
Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: Saph, Doc, Ashlee, Xavier, and L
Sample RP:
"Why am I doing this?" It was a strange question. Wasn't the answer an obvious one? A scarred face leaned in to the struggling young man before him, one good eye looking deep into the mirrors of his soul. He saw fear. Strange, to see something so close to a true human emotion in the eyes of what he knew to be a monster. The human known as bloody tash pulled back, taking a step away to admire his handiwork. It had been a struggle. The boy was in the prime of his life, after all, but after a few good cuts, and a good bit of grappling he'd managed to pull a paint rack down on him.
The young man, a mutant who had been making a name for himself by painting houses completely alone for low, low prices, looked back up at him, all but unable to move with the combination of the wounds he'd been given and the weight on him. "I guess it would be rude not to tell you." His unmistakeable accent coming out even through his damaged, rasping voice.
He stumbled over to the corner of the supply room he'd ambushed his prey in, reaching into his bag to produce a bottle, shoved closed with a wic hanging from it. As he lit the wic, he grimaced. The fight had taken a lot out of him. It was over now. Ignoring cries of protest, tears, artifacts of a demon trying to escape purification, the priest lifted his weapon of choice, and spoke simply. "Because it's the right thing to do."
He felt a righteous gratification as the room lit up with a violent red-orange light.
