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.
Aoife tried to rationalize that she was working. These were X-Men trying to impede the progress of her organization, and she was dealing with them to keep them from being a thorn in everyone's side. She had to play nice with Maya if she wanted to get Rebecca and Kalos to see the light, which she really did want.
But Maya was so righteous and holier than thou; it was hard not to find her anger entertaining. Her wife and daughter were still alive and healthy, and yet she was angry beyond the point of quipping. "Such a shame; Becca said you had a way with words..."
Focusing her attention on Sam, Aoife missed Maya slipping into one of her makeshift mirrors. Sam was a different kind of difficult to taunt, because he chose to wildly misinterpret her suggestion. In his defense, she was being wilfully suggestive, but still, way to miss the point, frosty.
>> "Sam! On your right!"
Aoife missed where Maya's voice came from, but it stole her attention for a fraction of a second. By the end of that fraction, she was taking two boot-clad feet to the stomach, knocking Aoife back into a wall. The impact was enough to drop the boundaryless void, returning them to the alley. She touched the back of her head; she had a small bloody spot from a loose brick. Great.
Sam had dropped to the ground, which she realized was equal parts unintentional and planned. He could not control the loss of equilibrium, but if he was going to fall, he had a great excuse to dropkick the woman behind him. Either his powers picked her up or Maya really did see her.
And it was the latter. Probably both, but definitely the latter, as when Sam created a new mirror, Aoife saw her sister-in-law in the reflection. Her illusions must not have extended into Maya's private world. "Shit." Knowing Maya's weapon of choice, Aoife jumped to the right before a potential arrow could find her. Theoretically, the X-Men were not killers, but boy, did Maya sound like one today.
Jumping was a problem, because her carefully maintained balance did not account for yeeting herself into a new direction horizontally. Aoife landed on her shoulder hard, tumbling on the dirty ground. That effect was outliving its usefulness, so Aoife dragged the back of her hand across the bloodmark on her forehead, returning balance to the zone.
She was strong, but these two X-Men were unfortunate counters to her skillset. She had to get rid of one. Hastily getting up to her knees, she brushed her fingers, wet from the blood of her head wound, across her eyelids like eyeshadow. She took a breath, opening her eyes to look for Sam, hoping to meet his. She could not change the world around him to trick him, but maybe there was baggage in the grizzled man's mind with the capability to keep him distracted. She conveyed the message with her eyes, tinted red by her spell: Retreat to a happier place. It was not a suggestion for him to run; instead, it was an invitation for him to retreat into a world of memories in his mind.
Getting to her feet, Aoife's head was on a swivel, looking for ice mirrors and reflective surfaces. She drew a mirrored pattern on both sides of her abdomen, ending in a point to either side. Two illusionary copies of herself manifested. Maya could see through the illusion in the mirrors, but she had to come out to interact with Aoife. "Come on noo, Maya; Becca wouldnae want us daeing this. Gae home and be there for yer family. Kalos accepted her new gifts when Ah offered them tae her. And Becca..." that one was still unfortunate.
"She'll appreciate her magic. Curiosity is a family trait," she pointed out, keeping back-to-back with her copies. "Ah really dinnae hate her. Ah gae her this for her, Maya. Ah could gie it tae ye, as well. A gift ye can share wi' yer family."
There is a momentary disruption of service. No matter what you are watching, an action-packed movie, a steamy love scene, or a pair of reality stars mocking poor people in a Floor-Store, there is a moment there the screen on your television turns black. Suddenly there is a logo of a spinning, wireframe globe and the words “BREAKING NEWS” emblazons itself across the surface.
The camera zooms in on a single figure behind the desk. That of the always classy and marketably appealing face of New York news anchor, Deborah Dancer.
”Good evening,” she says with a sharp, professional smile. ”This is Deborah Dancer with a breaking news story. Police have confirmed a string of unusual mutant deaths occurring throughout the city. Unusual, even, for New York." Being a news anchor in this city could leave you jaded, but some news stories still carried weight.
"Causes of death have been inconsistent, ranging from immolation, cold exposure, electric shock, and blunt force trauma. Police are reporting that, beyond all being mutants, the victims appear to be from various backgrounds and walks of life. It appears this was the MO behind these attacks, but police are still investigating the party responsible. They advise caution for mutant citizens in the city at night until the group responsible has been apprehended, and we are sharing a tip line number on the screen. If you have any information that could help shed light on what appears to be an organized group of serial killers, please call and help make this city safe."
Constantinos Dougenis threw his phone at a brick wall. It was a pay-as-you-go burner phone, but it did connect to the Wi-Fi of the coffee shop on the other side of the bricks. "Make this city safe?" Laughable. He was the one making the city safe. He was The Cataclysm; a reckoning of nature's wrath. The other Supremes had their own ways of Cult outreach, recruiting followers and appealing to fearful people or people searching for belonging. Dino was a firm believer that action was the only way to send a message, and his actions would stir the people he resonated with: the angry people.
"Excuse me, sir."
Dino looked up and grinned. Diana Dresden cut through this alley on her way home from her programming job because it saved her eight minutes of walking around the buildings. It was the perfect place to wait for the owner of a mutant-activism website. "I'm not looking for your excuses, abomination." He opened his hand, touching the tip of his ring finger to his palm. The ink of his tattoo drained from the finger, leaving it the only unmarked digit on the hand. The spell formed, creating a wispy ball of black smoke hovering in his hand. He could smell the scent of rot coming from this decay energy.
It was done quick, but it was not silent. The spell withered her throat and chest, but not before she shouted out. Her form was limp on the ground with her upper body cracking and turning dark as her flesh and muscles decayed. Constantinos flipped up his scarlet red hood and used another of the spells tattooed on his fingers to summon a gale of wind to carry him up to a nearby roof. It was too early for him to make a public appearance yet.
A time slot originally used to host a small local access televangelist program has been gaining traction as rumors spread of the new program sweeping evangelical sects in New York.
Today's program begins with an opening prayer by an Acolyte of The Church of the Everlasting Eye of God. The camera pans over an impressive crowd with their heads bowed in prayer. After months of weekly programs, each Sunday the crowd filled every available seat.
When the introductory segments were finished, the Acolyte perked up. "It is time for God's weekly blessing for his most devout followers, and for that, we are graced by the woman who has brought us together as God's true flock. Everyone, offer your praise to God and welcome our Mother of Miracles, Agatha Payne."
The crowd got to their feet to erupt into applause as an older blonde woman in robes and a dusty rose cloak stepped from the wings out onto the stage. Her smile was kind and as she raised her hand and waved it over the crowd, her followers bowed their heads to receive her blessing unprompted. She found her pulpit at front center stage and raised her hand once more. This time, everyone knew to stop clapping and praising, hanging on the silence for words from their leader.
"My children, thank you for joining me today and offering your praise to the Lord, for I am merely a vessel for the blessings he bestows unto his flock. We live in troubling times, but He has seen us through greater perils and His people have been stronger for it. He gives us no challenge without also giving us the means of overcoming those challenges in His name. Indeed, that is why I have been graced with the blessings He has bestowed upon me; to remind you of His great generosity and to grant His boons to the truest believers."
A second spotlight hit the stage and a large man with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail stepped onto the stage. Steps away from Agatha, the man got to one knee and bowed his head. His rope was an unassuming white cotton, but he wore a breastplate and pauldrons to distinguish him from the other Initiate-level Acolytes. The metal was a dull grey, making him look modest like a squire from a poor family.
"Malachi knows what it is to be a true believer. He overcame great adversity to pledge himself to the truth of the Lord's Light. You see, Malachi was born with... a curse. The curse." Hushed whispers passed through the crowd; it was the curse Mother Agatha mentioned in many of her sermons, and while she never named it, they all understood. "He would create searing white fire, and while he used it in service of God, hoping to purpose the power as God's righteous fire, he accepted the truth: his fire was a curse from the Devil, and nothing good comes from his darkness," she reminded the crowd solemnly.
"Still, Malachi was devout. He was repentant. He did not want to live cursed as a tool for the Devil, and that is how he came to us. He knows God loves the sinner who repents, and I am here as his emissary to show his kindness and forgiveness. And so, Malachi shall be reborn in His Light."
Agatha held her hands over Malachi's bowed head. Her thumbs met together, with her pinkies perpendicular to create right angles with her hands. Her three middle fingers stayed bundled together, with the tips of her index fingers meeting, creating a triangle in tandem with her thumbs. The spoken component of her "prayer" was symbolic, except for the final words in Latin.
"Remake this poor, unfortunate soul in your image. Reward him for his service in your army. Reforge him as a true weapon of your righteousness. Resplende Deo Armis."
The unpolished armor responded to Agatha's final words, brightening into a shining, immaculate gold. Even Malachi's robes heightened to a pure white that could strain an onlooker's sight. "Rise reborn under the sight of The Eye of God, Paladin."
Malachi stood, beaming in the literal and figurative sense of the word. He had been turned into a Mystic at a Well days before this event, but he still stood proud as proof to the world that zeal and righteousness, even in cursed mutants, could be rewarded.
"And remember, my children, that there is no soul beyond saving if they are willing to devote themselves wholly to our Church and God's love. There may be dangers evolving in this world of man and monsters. You may feel powerless. But there is power in God. We can help you find it."
The X-Men had a reputation as the family-friendly, approachable face for mutantkind. They were deputized by the police and clearly had an effect on improving the public image of mutants over the years. Right now, there was nothing family-friendly about the tactics Maya and her friend had been pushed to use.
Aoife considered how this would play out for them publicly if this scene hit the media rounds. Objectively, it would have been the best choice for the needs of the cult. Selfishly, she had to hold off; there was still hope for Kalos and Becca to see the light, but if Aoife went around ruining Maya’s life by making her into a scaremongering talking point, she was burning that last rope bridge between her and her family.
As a consolation prize, she could still push Maya’s buttons. Winning her over would be great, but that look in Maya’s eye said she was not in an open-minded mood.
The vertigo aura noticeably put Maya off kilter, which was a good start. Emotionally, she was already there. Aoife tutted the aggressive tone. ”Tsk tsk, Maya. Ye should really work on your language. Lots ay internalized misogyny tae work through.”
The pretty boy was called upon to make more ice, which Aoife assumed served the function of mirrors. That certainly sounded like cheating to her. That was fair; most of what she did felt like cheating. Case in point:
>> ”Under you!”
She drew a blood glyph across her lips, casting her Counterspell. The man’s voice shifted in the air, hitting Maya’s ears as, ”She’s behind you!”
Misinformation complicated fights. Aoife hopped from her perch, flipping up the hood of her enchanted sky blue cloak to better conceal her presence. She gave Maya a wide berth to get closer to Sam.
Maya was blind with rage, but Sam still had quips. She appreciated that; how often did she get to quip during her modeling hours? ”I can think of a few ideas,” her voice echoes from every direction, even as she approached the cryomancer from behind. ”We gae tae a nice restaurant, Ah wine an’ dine ye, then we can find a quiet Well an’ let ye rejoin Becca. Xavier’s would make a great Hogwarts,” she suggested, reaching a blood-touched finger to Sam’s temple. If she could shift his perception and rewrite Maya to appear as Aoife instead, she could let the X-Men do the work for her.
Aoife had been irritable since her last encounter with her sister and niece. Rebecca was so godsdamn stubborn; Kalos saw what she was trying to do. Even after years of lessons reminding her that mutants were the enemy of their great change, she went out of her way to be merciful and offer her family a gift. Whether her little sister was grateful or not, she was one of them now. Eventually, she would see reason and come to her older sibling to better understand her new gifts. Aoife did her best to manifest patience, a rare trait for the cunning redhead. The other Supremes were quick to confirm she was failing.
Staying in New York so her family could find her when they came to their senses, Aoife could distract herself with mundane civilian life. The shopping was unmatched if she pretended Paris did not exist, and it was hardly a challenge to get a good ticket to a Broadway show in her position. A few days of shirking her responsibilities as a leader could be justified away as a mental health break.
Unfortunately, a Supreme was always on call, and an attack on one of her acolytes near a Well site warranted her attention.
Not looking to walk right into trouble, she slipped into the building next to the distress spell, opening a window and sitting on the sill. She muffled any sounds of the window opening and cloaked her presence long enough to get an idea of what she was dealing with.
The eyepatch man was familiar from their reports and explained the ice away cleanly. More interesting was his companion; a familiar face presenting as the woman Maya today. Her sister's spouse had come looking for answers. Aoife smirked, because this was always in the cards. She didn't need the damned Lady in Red's help predicting that.
The pair were occupied with threatening a reflection in the makeshift mirror. These two could pose a challenge; illusions were great at tricking the five major senses, along with some of the more niche ones, but mutant senses like her sister's former ability to detect metal were outside of her ability to manipulate. For now, she would make due with what she had, biting her thumb to draw a seal in blood on her wrist. She altered the space so the walls of the buildings seemed to melt away, dissolving into a mist that seeped around them, filling space until they stood in a thick fog and an undefined expanse. The walls were still there, but they were imperceivably unless you ran into one.
Aoife's voice called out, projected to echo from no particular direction. "Maya, Ah knew we'd be talkin' soon, but Ah was really hopin' it coulds ay jist been us girls. Nae need tae scare wee acolytes or bring a boytoy along." She drew a swirling mark on her forehead, altering the equilibrium within the warehouse. Even she needed a moment to grab the window frame as she wobbled and almost fell from her perch before adjusting to her own spell. "Did ye come tae find a villain tae monologue about our evil plans? Because Ah might be feelin' chatty today. Or maybe you're jist deliverin' a thank ye basket frae my sweet baby sister?"
A hooded figure flipped the switches, kicking to life the overhead lighting of the abandoned conference hall. Given the events of the Harvest Moon, the building had been closed to the public pending investigations. That was a joke; there were over three dozen known locations of unusual activity that night in New York. Investigations were spread thin and no one knew where to begin.
They knew so little. They were not asking the right questions.
The original owner of the convention hall was tired of eating losses and jumped at an interested party’s offer. The new ownership left most of the abandoned building alone, but in the main hall, they made important additions.
The hooded figure strode to his seat—one of six arranged at equidistant points surrounding the highlight of the otherwise empty space. The fountain was ornate, with the well in the center drilled down through the floor, into the earth below. He noted the intricate runework carved into the sides of the fountain and encircling the floor around it. Everything was in place.
“It’s almost time, correct?”
The older man tracked the new hooded figure appearing over his shoulder. He expected the younger woman to make a surprise appearance. Of course, ever since the Harvest Moon, the youngest of their Supremes could not resist blinking into rooms, leaving everyone to question if she had been there the entire time. “You’re too flashy. We must still be cautious not to earn more attention than we’ve already claimed.”
The woman took her seat, waving a dismissive hand. “Yoo're overly cautioos, elder. it willnae matter efter tonecht anyway, reit?”
The elder sighed, stifling a grin due to her infectious bravado. “Nothing is set in stone. Influxes have calmed since that initial flood, and we have only been able to claim and keep open a handful of wells. There is the chance the Solstice does not offer enough of an influx and we have to be patient.”
“That one knows nothing of patience,” a deeper, Greek-accented voice spoke. The tall man had the sense of decorum to enter through the front door, though the faint trail of smoke from his hands did not go unnoticed.
“Ran intae trooble it thaur?”
His bellowing laugh reverberated through the empty room. “No trouble. It is not trouble to step on a pest, correct?”
So much for decorum. “You’re both too brash. Our time is close at hand. The chaos of the Harvest Moon hid our actions, but it is key we pick only the perfect moments to act.”
“My apologies, Elder,” half-hearted though they were. “I promise to keep my hands clean until the ritual. I assume one righteous extermination did not damn us, right?”
The oldest Supreme moved to his feet, prepared to respond with a diatribe on needless risks when he spotted the shimmer in the corner of his eye. In unison, all three sets of eyes turned to the fountain, watching as the etchings of the silver fountain glowed a dim white. They peered into the fountain, watching as a crystal blue-white substance started rising from the hole driven into the ground at the center of the structure. Not liquid, not gas, yet it swirled ethereally. In hours, the substance would fill the fountain to the brim.
Unable to continue with his reprimand, the bearded Mystic allowed himself to give into the brimming excitement in his soul. “I suppose the night will be ours, troublemaking aside.” From beneath his hood, his eyes gave off an unnatural glint. “The others shall join us soon. I hope you’re ready to imbibe and become gods of a new age.”