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 Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
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 Cataclysm realized the bear was there almost too. "Oho! Someone thinks they're smarter than the average bear!" he said as he twisted around, and a vanishing tattoo meant a gust of air whirled him several yards to the side out of the way of the polar bear. Malice flashed in his gaze and a diamond pattern faded off the back of his hand as he flung a swathe of razor-sharp shards of emerald energy at the bear.
By this point, someone else was just begging to die.
Water came down, dousing many of the flames, and Constantinos spun to great the new challenger. "Finally! A challenge! I've been waiting for you!" he said, his eyes lighting up. Even when Detective Cervantes, who was a high-profile target for the Cult, shifted into water and began morphing into a bound tsunami, Constantinos just began to quiver with excitement. The whirlwind shifted and took him into the air until he was approximately eye level with the man, the spinning wind keeping him dry of any stray droplets.
"I learned this one in the hopes you'd appear!" he yelled. "Tell the other gods I killed I hope they're burning in Hell!"
He raised his hands and aimed them at the elemental as a Celtic-style tattoo of a storm cloud vanished from his entire chest. Electricity began crackling around him then dozens of bolts of plasma began rapidly arcing from his hands, stabbing outward at everything in front of him like one of those plasma balls. Unlike those balls, however, this lightning would scorch and painfully shock anyone who got hit by it. But that wasn't its main function. You didn't use lightning to hurt someone who had no fleshly, burnable form.
You used electrolysis.
Whenever the plasma arcs struck water, they launched chain reactions that would spread through the bodies of water like greasefire, electrically splitting the water molecules apart, releasing so much oxygen and hydrogen into the air.
The Cataclysm smiled wider as the big glowing man bounded through the fire and took a swing at him with one of his own minion's turret guns. "Nice tattoos," he said, a tattoo on his own chest vanishing. He didn't even flinch as the god's gun struck him— instead, his body began glowing bright blue as all of the kinetic force of the attack was absorbed. "...but mine are better!"
He stabbed a palm out toward Hercules and all the kinetic force he'd absorbed, as well as a little extra, blasted the demigod out toward the mansion like a green comet.
The Cataclysm paused for only a moment to admire his handiwork before turning his attention to the rodent-looking mutant. "Ah, someone else wants to play. Fine, I'm in the mood for roasted rat!" He swept his flame-covered arm at Luna and Javier and a tribal tattoo along his forearm vanished as a wall of flame, six feet high, swept toward them.
Chapter 3: The Cataclysm Descends (Originally occurred concurrently with Chapter 2)
As mutants and friends of the Mansion cleaned up Mystics in the courtyard, keeping them from making it to the building’s entrance, a howling could be heard in the air. The sound grew louder and louder until a figure trailing fire came into vision.
Approaching the ground with intense velocity, he reached for his bicep, draining a tattoo from his skin. He held out both hands and a vortex of wind formed, stopping his momentum and lifting him back into the air so he could float down harmlessly. Meanwhile, the display of wind was enough to kick up dirt and dust across the courtyard.
As everything settled, the handsome man with the malicious smile laughed. His right arm blazed with fire that seemed to leave him unharmed, and he aimed his left hand, index and middle finger pointing at a redhead in a breastplate. The tattoo on his finger drained to his fingertip.
“Bang.” A compact bullet of force fired from his fingers toward Rebecca.
Agatha was defeated; put down by abominations. How could God abandon her just cause? She refused to believe her enemies fought on the side of justice.
It was only at sword point of an angry mutant that Agatha realized the truth. She had not lost. Her niece yanked her by the hair and unloaded on her with a slap and some catharsis, but even there, Agatha had succeeded; a demon was driven out, even if the young woman's spirit was still evil.
Straining through the pain, she laughed, drawing more blood against the blade. "I do not know a Man of Shadows, demon. But I'm certain you're already too late. They have had time; they will find the Gateway to the Mystic Plane. Soon, this will be a world dominated by God's Chosen: The Mystics."
Her laughter was cut short by Agnes punching her, knocking the wind out of her. Without her magic, she was still well along in age and doubled over.
Time the Third did not have. These mutants were becoming a nagging issue, and the samurai had special motivation to get in the way of The Third’s grand plans. She would not succeed, but he would not give her the chance when his ascension was so close at hand.
“The Blessed will have to take care of herself for once,” he said hastily, grabbing the Unmaker by the shoulder. “Our time is close at hand.”
The Beckoner began to glow green, looking out at the samurai. He pulled away his mask, offering a glimpse under his hood at a face warped with reddened, craggy features. “This is just the prologue to the End, little girl. Feel privileged; you’ve lived long enough to soon see my true face.”
And with that, The Elder and the Third blinked away, leaving only The Fourth standing in the midst of her Holy Soldiers, half-healed from the wound inflicted upon her by her niece. “Evil thing!” The old woman kicked at the depowered Agnes.
With her strength diminishing, the charms empowering Agatha’s soldiers begin to weaken.
The First Supreme felt the sharp pain of a bullet digging into his body. He gripped his staff tightly, illuminating the runes carved into it. Muscle fibers wove back together, pushing the hot piece of metal back up toward his skin until it fell into his coat and harmlessly to the ground.
He turned and saw a masked young woman behind him with a handgun. To his side, he saw an insectoid woman and his colleague, freshly pierced by an appendage. Mutants; he could feel their X-Genes. He chuckled. “You really presumed a Supreme could be defeated so easily? The arrogance of mutants.”
The man’s staff glowed and he held out a hand, grabbing the masked woman’s face and the insect girl’s shoulder. There was a flash of black energy, followed by the searing pain of genes being rewritten.
Insectoid features of the young assassin crumbled away. The mutant witch fueled by gems was suddenly hit with the great hunger of her body’s need for food for the first time in over a decade. Ezmeralda doubled over, falling to the ground as the pain of becoming human hit her.
“An arrogance I have freed you from,” he gloated.
The Fourth, still clutching her shoulder and swatting way insects that no longer heard the command of their former master, rasped out. “Enough of your theatrics! Heal me!” She could already feel the grasp on her mass charm weakening.
“Mind your tone, frau. I am not responsible for your carelessness.” He held the head of his staff to her shoulder, beginning the slow process of mending the wound. Healing any venom would be another spell, so this would take some time.
The Beckoner marched at a leisurely pace, watching minions throw themselves at the enemies seeking to challenge him. The Fourth thought her army indomitable and the will of her God infallible, but he only saw them as a shield to buy time. They served their use, but he kept his attention locked on his dagger's blade, waiting for a sign.
The chaos surrounding them was nothing of interest until a familiar voice broke through the cacophony.
The man spotted a woman, fashioning herself as a samurai, and he grinned under his mask. Disabling his voice modulator, he spoke with a deeper voice alongside a second, raspy voice. "As expected; the long-suffering samurai. It is only fair for you to be here with me today."
Agatha steeled her nerves; her army was blessed by God. There was no way a ragtag group of abominations would threaten her, regardless of how hard they tried. It helped knowing who she was walking with; the Fifth was the most destructive Supreme, but the First and Third were the most truly powerful.
Still, some of these young women were true monsters. "Malachai, pain is nothing! Devotion is everything! Slay the heretics!"
Her words reinvigorated the wounded Mystic, granting him a second wind. The white-flame energy radiating from his sword coated the rest of his body. "I will not be swayed by your devilsong, monster," Malachai bellowed, scorching heat flaring with his words before he charged the pink woman. He swung his blade, spawning arrows of burning light scattering toward Aura, Zek, and Lenna; he had to protect God's army from their interference.
One mutant was making a beeline through Agatha's soldiers. It took a moment, but she recognized the young woman with the grotesque features and grinned wickedly.
"Let her through!" her voice boomed, and the guards standing between Agnes and Agatha opened the path. "My darling, monstrous niece. You do not look well. In truth, I was hoping you would find me sooner," she admitted, her tone sickly sweet. "God has finally granted me the authority to solve the problem of your unfortunate existence."
Agatha clutched her Holy Symbol, a modified cross pendant hanging heavy on her neck. “Go with the blessing of God’s righteous sword and shield,” her voice echoed.
The Mystics standing before her started to light up, their skin developing a golden sheen and their eyes glowing brightly. Leading the charge was Malachi, adorned in enchanted armor and a sword burning with white fire.
The Blessed Supreme’s Mystics were more coordinated, moving uniformly to protect their leader from the front and sides, with two Mystics watching their tail. They knew mutants would try breaking through their phalanx to get to Agatha and the remaining Supremes, but they were prepared for holy war.
It took minutes, but the Supremes were finally channeling enough mystical energy to get involved in the assault. They knew their army was… green. They were causing trouble and wearing down the defenses of the Mansion. (At least some of them had to be tripping traps, too, which was unfortunate but helpful.)
They got the ball rolling and the Supremes could join to turn the tide. The First raised his staff. “Fourth, bless your acolytes and we shall begin the march.” Agatha’s followers were the most zealous and devoted, and with her skill in Metation, she could “bless” her soldiers with a charm to enhance their strength and durability. They were kept out of the initial wave so they could be the honor guard of the Supremes.
All except one, of course. “Fifth…” The old man smirked. “Scout ahead and cause your trouble.”
”Finally.” Constantinos touched his finger to his palm, draining one of his many tattoos. He pointed the palms of his hands down as a burst of fire came from each, launching him far into the air toward the Mansion.
Returning from an ad break at the top of the hour, the camera pans to the news channel's anchorwoman.
"Good evening. This is Deborah Dancer with your Channel Ten News Update."
Xavier's Under Construction
"It has been two months since the Battle at the Xavier's Sister School and the destruction of the at-times controversial Mansion. Despite vocal opposition and anti-mutant rhetoric from some politicians in power, Congress was able to approve resources for the rebuilding of the School. Prominent S.U.P.E.R. leaders testified and came out in support of a governmental fund to support communities affected by 'supernatural events,' and these testimonies made it clear that the mutant community should not be excluded from this support."
The scene shifted to the Mansion, still a ways from its former glory, but deep into the process of rebuilding. "A spokesperson for Xavier's Sister School has confirmed that residential wings of the Mansion are available for those ready and willing to return to their found home. Other wings are still under construction, but they are glad to take the first steps back to normalcy. They also thanked Haven, a local advocacy organization, for their aid in this trying time."
Welldrinker Trials
Returning to Deborah's desk, an image of a court proceeding popped into the corner of the screen. "In related news, the Welldrinker Trials (as they've come to be known) are well underway. The focus has been on the trials of 'The Supremes,' former leaders of the cult that infiltrated New York in recent years. Popular fringe-evangelist leader Agatha Payne is claiming in her case that she is a victim of religious discrimination. Conversely, the head of the cult has been tight-lipped amidst his proceedings. Manfred Müller, Real Estate Mogul and notable contributor to many political campaigns over the years, has cast a heavy shadow on his company and all those associated with him.
"Two former Supremes have testified against the remaining leaders for their actions in February and leading up to the attack. Aoife Ainsley and (The Lady in Red) took part in the defense of the Mansion, earning special consideration for plea deals in exchange for their testimonies against Müller and Payne."
The State of Magic
"Finally, we at Channel Ten wanted to reflect on the most notable fallout from the events of the Lunar New Year: Magic. While skeptics still dominate many circles, researchers have confirmed that people across the globe have been developing powers in record numbers—notably without testing positive for an X-Gene. Reports suggest this magical boom will continue as those affected by the mysterious cascade of energy continue to manifest powers, or "snap" across the world.
"There has been a call for regulation of those being declared as 'Mystics,' while others are calling for infrastructure and organizations to help those transitioning into the experience. S.U.P.E.R. Spokeswoman, Sabine Sang advises that the situation is currently delicate; as with mutants, the mystic population is controversial and vulnerable in their modest numbers. Everyone is understandably concerned by the potential for another group like The Welldrinker Cult to take power, but the world will still be much safer with mystics having the systems in place necessary to help them responsibly handle their new gifts.
"No comment was made on the structure of such an organization or those involved, but Channel Ten has heard reports of a group being referred to as 'The Veil' reaching out to those experiencing sudden magical phenomena. As always, we will report on the situation as more details come to light.
The air on the edges of the woods surrounding the Xaviers’ campus started distorting and shimmering green. Suddenly, with a crack, hundreds of Mystics appeared, standing in rows and ready for battle.
The Elder cursed. “Why are we still in the woods?”
A muffled, processed voice from behind the Third’s mask answered, ”There are protection charms in place. They interfered with the precision of the spell. This is fine.”
The Elder still grumbled, feeling the drain of such a powerful spell on his body. The Supremes would need a few minutes to gather more Mystic Energy regardless, which would be easier this close to their final goal.
Loudly, he barked, “Charge their stronghold!”
The call boomed, enhanced by magic, and the waves of Mystics charged into the woods protecting the courtyard and the Mansion.
-
“Mystics on the move!” Gemwitch shouted, burning the Amethyst in her stomach to launch herself into the air on a whirlwind, leaping toward the woods to get into the action.
This Event was originally written off-site. Enjoy the record of events for posterity!
Chapter 1: The Assault Begins
The Elder Supreme was old fashioned; when he called upon members of the Cult to join together for the great unfolding of the glory age of Mystics, he wanted all Mystics in New York to heed his call. He was disappointed when half of those granted powers by the Cult could not commit to their cause. What they had to do was violent, but it was for the good of all. The rest would see that eventually.
It was unfortunate that the Sixth had disappeared; even the Second, The Lady in Red, could not sense her presence in the mortal realm. Of course, it was always difficult to discern when that woman was speaking in truths, half-truths, or total lies. She was not present for the day’s assault, but that was for the best.
The Fourth and Fifth were ready. The Blessed, Agatha, was not a woman who took to the frontlines, but she had the most loyal followers of the Cult’s paths. She had succeeded in turning the religious zeal of some into Mystics with a “heaven-sent mission;” preposterous to him, but useful for morale.
The Cataclysm… well, he would be on the frontlines. Anyone who called themselves an acolyte of Constantinos deserved a mental-health check-up. Regardless, that elemental mass-murderer was raring to go, to the point where he had to be reminded not to just destroy large swaths of the Mansion grounds before they located the Gateway.
Their troops waited anxiously in rows, preparing potion vials and drawing glyphs. Some drew their own blood, which would be more concerning if not for the popularity of blood magic within the cult. They waited, glad there would be no marching.
Their path to the Mansion would be more direct; The Third, The Beckoner, had already prepared a large spell circle surrounding their upstate camp. He was dragging a staff to make one final smaller circle around the Supremes, whose power would be drawn from for such a massive spell. The Beckoner was always quiet, hiding behind a metal mask that covered most of his face, glowing with green lights. It was a bit high tech for the Elder’s taste, but the man was powerful. The blackened and scaled corruption of his clawed hands were a testament to his commitment.
The Elder turned to the crowds and with a subtle hand sign quieted the crowd, temporarily disabling their vocal cords. “I am not a man for grand speeches; I am a man of purpose. Mutants have been in the path of Mystic evolution for centuries. I do not know the kind of resistance we may face at their place of power, but we shall not be kept from the power that is ours by right. And so…”
The marks etched in the ground radiated a brilliant green as energy coursed through the camp. In an emerald flash, the camp was empty.
Maya was, at her core, a caring person. She hated Aoife because of what she did to their family, but her concern for a friend was always going to trump hate. This was Aoife's chance to run away, lick her wounds, and plan better for her next meeting with her sister-in-law. They could call their meeting today a stalemate.
Unfortunately, Aoife underestimated the kind of anger a mental trick could have on a man. Sam was not grateful for whatever idyllic vision she stuck him in, and now that he had shaken free from her hold, there would be consequences for the illusionist's actions.
Doing her best to limp away, Aoife was still in no condition to escape an ice trap spreading quickly over to her. Distracting Maya hinged entirely on acting and taking advantage of the situation she had created. The magic barely helped due to her little mirrorverse life hack. She could not act well enough to distract Sam, nor could she mislead his heat detection. A chill ran through her body as her right foot refused to lift from the ground. She fell, twisting her ankle, which quickly froze over. At least she could not feel the pain, though she knew the frigid numbness was far worse.
Maybe meeting her sister gave Aoife a romanticized vision of what heroes were, or at least saw themselves as in their own eyes. Sam had no pretense; he saw himself as a killer and was ready to do something about that. Aoife tried to stifle fear and focus on whatever solutions she had left that did not end in death. She could figure something out eventually if it didn't all end here. It was also very hard to think when your leg was literally freezing.
Aoife's eyes darted over to Maya, realizing that was the answer. That was her hope; that Maya would keep choosing empathy over hate. Her teeth chattered as she called out, "Maya! W-would Becca want this? Will shshshe forgive ye?"
The spell Aoife had to hit the ice guy with was one that made even Aoife feel icky. As a Supreme, she had to stop anyone looking to interfere with the Cult's goals, but she could acknowledge that fucking with a traumatized person's happiest memories scored lower on the morality scale than inducing vertigo and tricking their eyes. When she escaped this encounter, maybe Aoife would send Sam a card. "Sorry for confronting you with your most joyous memories, it was pretty uncool of me," or something like that.
Of course, to manifest that reality, Aoife had to actually escape. She still had a bow-wielding mirrorwalker on her case. A bow. Seriously. Rebecca mentioned her spouse enjoyed history, but if the X-Men were deputized, a gun sounded much more practical. Not that she was rooting for Maya to have a gun at the moment. Maya's weapon was less problematic than her refuge in the mirrors where Aoife's powers held no sway.
Rebecca loved Maya, so Aoife wished the archer could see reason. Sure, magic was not Rebecca's choice, but she could not see the truth from where she was. "It was never a choice," she huffed, staying light on her toes and looking for the next arrow. "It was her fate. She was born a mutant, but magic was her birthright. It's all our birthrights." Maybe when the Cult succeeded with their final plans, Maya would remember this moment and see Aoife was right. The Welldrinkers weren't ruining lives, they were laying the groundwork to change them for the better.
There were too many ice walls. She should have called upon Constantinos. His fire would have sublimated every reflective surface in sight. He also would have tried killing Rebecca's wife and friend on sight, which was why Constantinos was not the call. She had to focus on what she could control: her subordinate was no longer in a condition to give up information and her attempt to save him was a glorious failure. He was a believer; he understood the cost of faith. The two X-Men were beyond saving at the moment, so the only logical option left for her was to make a hasty retreat.
"If you're really committed to not killing me, we can at least agree on that. Let's part paths here and Becca doesn't have to know we met behind her back." An arrow whizzed, going through and through, puncturing the Aoife's waist. The shot was well off-center, but in a hasty bid to cast one more doppelganger illusion, she presented a version of herself caught square through the back. She shouted, which was real because arrows fucking hurt, regardless of what part of you they cut through. Hoping Maya would break into the real world after a successful shot, Aoife was looking for just enough time to slink away in a cloud of invisibility, leaving behind her after-image as a distraction.
She was preoccupied with the pain-addled escape plan, oblivious to Sam being stabbed to his senses and lifting the veil of her happy dream hex.