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.
August got out his deck. The cards were “business cards,” with gold painted on in runic symbols on each card. Real gold. On the borders, around the edges, and in certain places. Could be used as real business cards, but they were heavier, and worth more than just paper.
“I use these as tools to store power so I don’t have to expend as much when I cast. Don’t have a ton. They use real gold, painted on, and I imbue them with magic. It’s a focus tool. Otherwise, I use hand gestures.”
He was not sure where and when he had discovered both methods. It must have been through experimentation, trial and error, because mystics had not had a library and pamphlets when he had first snapped.
“As for magic I can use… I use commands and suggestions, to get people to do things and move where I want them to move, I also have minor illusions. Think I may expand on illusions eventually… get something bigger. Not sure. Don’t have much in the ways of offense. I can give fake pain headaches. Useful.”
Ego, surprisingly, was not a large part of him that moment. Maybe He might have pride about performances, or something clever he’s may have done, but this situation? Here? Now? He was just getting by. ‘Done Well?’ No. Passable. He had gotten lucky that he had not met anyone with an iron will. Someone who did not take suggestions. Had a big job to do. A professional or a zealot. He wouldn’t have had much sway in diverting that.
When she said “done well,” he said “thanks” and did not mean it. He felt wary about accepting any gratitude until the job was done, his mind focused mainly on the present, on feelings he’d already had, and desire to just resolve this quickly, however they could. Then He could gloat… Probably wouldn’t.
August listened to her power and thought of how it would work alongside him.
Empath. One word. But what did it mean?
He had hoped for fireballs. Actually, no. Collateral. Damage. He liked the city.
Empathy. She felt feelings? Maybe they could use that to combine with his power… He usually had to read people anyways. The best suggestions are ones that sound reasonable, those they might willingly take. To their detriment.
Cool.
She said as much as He was thinking. Same page. Good.
Maybe some day, he would work on spells to do things like make people break into hideous laughter, or to dance irresistibly. Maybe wander around in confusion, or if he tinkered with his illusions, get them to flee in palpable fear at sights and suggestions he weaved… but for now, they had what they had. And the bird man cometh.
—
This one felt madness. He was happy to do bad things if someone suggested them, and paid. He might be hard to manipulate with just suggestions, as… well, to the insane, nothing might seem reasonable, save what they want to do. And he wanted to trouble folks with birds.
He wandered around the corner, muttering to himself and to his new chicken friend. Stupid man earlier, had told him stop, but not for how long… a pigeon fluttered over to land on a street sign near the blonde one, who stood next to… stupid man.
It cooed. Then another landed, nearby. On the sidewalk. Another, above them, on the side of a building.
August noticed. “Uh. This guy again. I don’t think he fell for my suggestion… damn. Birds. Duck!!”
August dove for cover as a— where had he gotten a mallard?! — dove at him and the blonde. She had not given him her name, so blonde and “hey you” would have to do.
The guy had like 5 birds, not including the chicken. 3 pigeons, the duck, and what looked like— holy shit when had he gotten a falcon?!
And suddenly they were doing this together, like some kind of crazy team up. He had kind of hoped, when he saw them, they might be some kind of X and he could go on his merry way… which he probably would not have done. Since he was trying to be better than how he had once been, back in the day. But the feeling had still been there. Because he just wanted to get home.
Work with her? He supposed he wasn’t free to go home just yet. The busses were probably all down, anyways. Who could drive in this mess? If it were this bad in all parts of the city… not that he knew for sure. But when it rains, it pours. So August nodded back at her “together then” comment, and resolved himself to it.
He still felt tired, mentally drained, and physically… he had been tapping into his on-hand resources and ambient magic a little, so as to stretch his magical resource cards. Now he could really lean on them. Maybe in the future, he would opt for the opposite way. Magic was still kind of new, even after all this time.
He was glad for the help, even if part of him was mildly annoyed he still felt the need to help. But— the thankful feelings outweighed the selfish ones.
She asked if he could turn people into chickens.
He wanted to laugh, but he stuffed that down. Just, the suddenness of it all.
“No.” August said, with a slight head shake. “No, I don’t know what that was about. He used a focus or an item to cast that spell. Might not even be something he can do innately. Both times I have seen it,” August quit being a nerd… “He used the item. My magic is—“
August was entirely unaware of the entire universe inside the head of the blonde woman, the emotions warring and resolving.
>>> ”Help me clear this block?” The woman said.
He finished his thought out loud. “My magic is more verbal. I suggest things that sound reasonable, or give single-word commands that don’t cause harm… and they may do what I want. So mostly I’ve been suggesting that this is all really stupid, and what they really want is to go home and have a nice, long, nap. Yeah. I can help you settle these things down a bit. What sorts of stuff do you do?”
When he’d seen the man, he’d been tired, wary, annoyed, just done with the day. Done enough to cast and get past a hard guard. Some mystics like combat, like a challenge. He didn’t. He was geared towards avoidance and deescalation. Words, illusions. And He wanted to get movement bashed in somewhere. Those were his music goals add far as rounding out his spell book was concerned. But He was still pretty new to magic. Unrefined.
He was relieved when will became a chicken, and even more relieved when an angry-sounding Irish woman approached and took an interest in him. Finally, someone who might help. Unless
The relief was shorte-lived, followed by a bout of concerned wariness. Was the Irish woman there to help? Helping who? Hindering who? It could easily go both ways. Did she work for Her? The mystery woman mentioned by a goon. Goons had been hired to cause trouble, he surmised, and one hired for such would have problems with their efforts being hindered.
He came off cagey. “It really depends what side you are on. I am hindering the troublemakers. Don’t know what this is about, but it sounds like they were hired and— I don’t work for whoever She is. My name is August. Hope you’re on my side…”
He really did not want this to be the end of August. He was so tired of all this nonsense.
The street here was on was a lot less busy than it had been, and he hoped the evidence would speak for itself. Be a whole lot more violent if he had encouraged it. But he had hindered, so-
—— Out of sight, around a corner and on another street. The chicken landed on the pigeon man’s shoulder. He had been told to leave, but another influence was overriding the one August had left. Pigeon Man had been told stop, but He had. He could continue now. He felt pretty coo’.
He’d made it from the nice neighborhood where the Tran family lived, into the bigger part of the city, with taller apartment buildings rather than McMansions and houses. Who would have thought a handful of blocks could be so harrowing?
He had seen no less than five interesting things. Any more than that, He could not really share in detail. It would be overwhelming. And also, the majority of things were stuff like daylight burglary, car crashes and break-ins, improper parking when thieves realized traffic was making theft impossible. Car wrecks, jaywalking. The list of boring things went on. But here was the first interesting thing on the list… As he had walked and avoided, He had noticed, the majority of dumb crimes were being committed by one person. In duplicate.
The man wore hats of various appearances, size, sometimes wore facial hair to appear unique, but the faces were all the same sane. Heights, same. Clothes, other than hats…. Same. Eventually, He found who He thought was the ring leader. The king clone. The one doing nothing but give orders and laugh. He approached him, pulling out a deck of playing cards from a pocket. He pulled one from the deck, then pocketed the deck. August held one up in front of him, and focused his gaze on the man.
The man noticed him, manic look on his face. He said “a h h h, yes. Y o u. Here to stop me, yes? She is ipaying us a lot for this. Me? Remove him.”
A clone came towards him, from where it was busy spray painting someone’s building. The graffiti said eye heart “me.” The body parts were pictures, the word was a word. The clone held the paint can menacingly. August ignored him, and cast the suggestion spell on the king.
“She told me you’re doing great.” He improvised. Hoping this would work. Who was she? “She suggested you all go home now, and wait for a bonus to come in your account.” That was the suggestion. He added “Wait for further orders.” For clarification. Non magical.
The business card He held had gold writing, and runes. Hand-painted, on top of a regular business card. It burned away, as if by magic. Into ash.
Kings eyes went steely for a moment, then He nodded and slowly said yes. The clones suddenly streaked towards him, from wherever they were. A Bounding blur. The can clattered to the concrete. Elsewhere. Numerous situations ceased. He snapped upright and clasped his hands together. Then bowed! Then bolted. August blinked.
That had been the first interesting thing. As for the rest, let’s be a lot briefer. Four more things, in a flash!
2)He saw a man burping slugs. Weird.
3)He saw a mystic casting spells that did stuff like make men burp slugs. He told him something good would happen if he threw his spell focus, a magic geode, against the brick wall. It did. It shattered and the spells on all the people who had been hexed were broken. That was good. He was disappointed but you can’t win every time.
4) it was a scene from a Hitchcock film, the birds. Pigeons, swiping. Swooping. A man was laughing, companions commanded.
“Stop.” A stranger said. It was August.
The man was not sure why he stopped. The birds landed on his arms. Cooed.
And finally,
5)The guy he had met once before, the one who had beat him up, then turned into a chicken when rex appeared… he showed up. August got his spell off first, and it shockingly worked.
He was standing in front of a tall apartment building.
“Hey man, long time no see.” August passed his hands in front of him in casting motions. “You’re in danger. It isn’t safe here. You should exit like you did last time.”
The man, who August called will power, due to his will power… said “Great fucking idea.”
He snapped an onyx tablet, and turned into a chicken. Flapped away.
The violin crooned, within the room. The violence crooned, without.
It was a nice room. Cream-colored walls. Comfortable red curtains. A cushioned seat, in a wooden chair, within easy view of the window to the outside world. In one corner of the room, there was a piano. Against the walls, books in beautiful wooden shelves. He was not alone. There was another. He was teaching them to play. A side gig. Sometimes you take them. When your life’s work is a musician for the New York orchestra, people pay you to teach their children your trade.
The kid was good. 8 or 9, dark hair. Glasses. A boy. His parents had pressured him in to picking up an instrument, but he had chosen the violin, and he had pointed August out to his parents during a concert. August had been told this fact. The boy’s parents were wealthy, and had connections. They arranged this.
He had been teaching the boy how to play weekly, for a few months now. This was, after all, August 28th, 2024. On a Wednesday, in the middle of the week. Today had been a little awkward, because the streets had been unusually busy. He had taken the subway or a bus or something, then walked. Things had not started yet then, but after arriving, the noises outside had steadily grew more chaotic.
The boy was doing his best to focus on the music, and to ignore the noise without. To focus on the noise within. But damn, if it wasn’t fucking noisy out there!!
What was the kid’s name again? Li, or was it Lee? Surname was either Tarin or Tran… Tran, he thought. It reminded him of the bus service operated by Lee county, out in Florida… which he had used some times. Because his family liked to vacation there, and he would rather use the city transit system than die in a car with them for another minute. So he remembered things. And he remembered it was Tran on the check.
Nice parents. Maybe Vietnamese or Chinese family? Possibly both. None of his business, but Tran definitely seemed more Vietnamese in his mind than it did as a Chinese Surname. The kid had a big family, too. A sister, older. Probably high school age. She did piano, which was totally fine. And a little brother who sometimes sat and listened, when he wasn’t sniffling or blowing his nose. Cute kid. He got really excited when his brother played Ode to Joy, or canon in d, or the game of thrones theme. Insert appropriate MrO-ism here.
A car alarm went off outside. August looked at the boy. “I think our time is up.” He said.
The boy nodded, then bent to begin packing up his Violin. “Same time next week?”
“Gee, I hope so. Stay inside today. That stuff outside sounds bad.” August replied
Another nod. Good kid. He said her was gonna play checkers with his little brother and keep them thinking about other stuff. Maybe listen to some Bach, really loud. August thought that was a great idea.
He left the house, and heard a lock click behind him. Cool cool. Smart. He took a step off the stoop, and walked into a war zone. Well, the New York equivalent. He almost turned around to see if He could go play checkers, too.
People were running around, shouting. A car alarm was wailing. On account of the guy jimmying. Above, some flying folks were bickering. Slugging it out. One used their laser eyes. Yeah. He was not getting involved with that. The car, though. August sighed, and went over to use some hand signs and magical suggestions to suggest the persongo home and eat a big meal because they were hungry. That was reasonable, right?
The person left. August started down the street, using magic and avoiding folks and just really telling people to leave, or go home. To calm down. Stop fighting. Flee. He used hand gestures, taking into account ambient magical energy, and using some of his own. He had spell focus stuff, but it was not dire enough for business cards. Those cost money, you know?
He began making his way down town, like that one song. Telling folks to relax. Don’t do it. Et cetera. He just wanted to get home.
He was not feeling the noize, time to quiet a riot.
Heart rate, slowing. He brushed at his forehead with an arm. Then realized Rex had offered a hand shake, so he shook the hand with his other. Smiled apologetically for leaving him hanging.
August did take a moment to catch his breath, with another “thank you.” Then Rex shut the door with an ominous clang, and August looked around at the setup.
Folding chairs, a card table, big blanket, snacks and chalk… did some people use chalk in spells? Did Rex? There were fire extinguishers under the table, too. Lot of fire prevention gear. Hm.
He was late, he was late!!! For a very important— well, not date, but date on the calendar! Running down the street, racing the clock, feeling terrible, with a piece of toast between his teeth.
It was not his fault. His family had called and — and that was a can of worms, with his mother, and— he didn’t even want to go into it-
And it was important. Way more important than family drama. Who cared if a cousin was getting married, and then cheated on— he was not going to talk about it or think about it. Extended family, not important even if his mother was really upset, but— he did not want to think about it. He was letting Rex down.
This was important to him. For his magic, as well as just because. And he’d goofed.
If only he had a long range teleport, but that was high level stuff. To try later. No rock dog, hell yeah. So he ran. After being dropped off by a very uncertain cabbie by the warehouse district.
Shifty place.
Why did he have toast?! It was closer to evening. Well. Snacks are important too, folks.
He ran and he ran and he cut corners and ran and— he got there, just a little bit late. He burst through the doors, into the warehouse, then doubled over, breathing hard.
“Sorry?” He gasped. “Family drama.” The toast was gone. He had eaten it all. Unbuttered. He was on a diet. “Feel terrible. Ran. Need to. Cough. Work on teleportation magic. At least a little step.” Ugh….
He stood up, and tried to make eye contact. Even if he did not want.
He had smiled a rare smile, and that was wholesome. And then he’d fumbled a bit awkwardly and said he’d do what He could. August had nodded at Rex. Then he’d turned his attention to escape.
Rex sighed.
August led, down the fire escape.
It was late, so He did not bother Rex with a lot of planning. In the coming days, he could call. They could talk when and where. Get a Bible. Maybe take over a coffee shop for discussing, or spend time at their library hideout. Book talk. Perhaps they’d go to church. A ride-along. He’d text him later.
After another thank you, as well as an “I’ll text you,” Rex and Elliot parted.
Everything to do with his magic, Rex confirmed. The Bible had everything to do with his magic. Just like August had thought.
Magic is personal to each and every mystic. Some use focuses, some make items, some use hand gestures or verbal. He made hand gestures, but he also made cards imbued with runes and magic. Gold had value, so gold was a sacrifice. He painted them in gold and runes. It was quicker than waving his hands like a dancer.
Rex used verbal stuff. Bible verses. His faith was his magic. Defined everything about him and how he drew magic from the other plane… which August thought was very interesting, and was something he very much respected, even if it did not wind up being for him. Seeing as, for faith, he had none. Other than in himself and some people. But this always could change.
August nodded at him, like “yeah; I get it.”
Rex was pleased to hear his offer. Which was good. He did not usually make such offers lightly. Again, faith in people.
Because it was highly personal, maybe Rex was not entirely sure it could work for August.
>>> "But to put it simply, my power comes from the Word of God and my relationship with Him." He said.
Then he did a little poem, and summoned a baby fireball in the space in front of him. He strutted his stuff, moved the fire, and showed off a little. Then he told him if he wanted to learn from him, he’d need to spend time with the Word.
Was he up for that, Rex asked him. Arching that eyebrow.
“Yeah.” August said simply. “I trust you won’t steer me wrong.”
He could give it a shot. The worst that could happen was it not working for him. Maybe he could figure out something about the school from training with Rex, and personalize something. And he was absolutely going to church with the man as well, because that was simply interesting. And again, respect.
What he had learned was Christianity. At home, with his family. And it had not worked out well for him. Maybe Rex was less Christian, more Catholic or something? It’s good to learn about other peoples’ faiths.
August followed the man’s attentions over the edge of the roof, where the guy had fled. Then he clapped his hands together. “Oh yeah! We should probably leave. Before the police arrive. He did break into a shop and all of that. Gosh, he really clobbered me good…”
He was starting to get the bruises and the little cuts and scratches that came with close quarters combat. It was a shame neither of them could do anything about that.
He would buy him a Bible. Why would he but him a Bible. There was disconnect, somewhere, between what August had said, and what Rex had heard. Had He even cracked a Bible ever?
People liked to quote the Bible a lot. At him. At people in the community. People who hated their pride. Wanted to take them down a peg. Misquote things, to insult who people were and their way of life. Hatred, from what was arguably a book about love.
He had read one, He realized. His family was awful, and full of vices. Of course they went to church. Political contacts, business dealings, the ability to advertise their faith as social standing without putting in any real work that would show you understood core concepts. Donations could be written off for tax purposes. Charity looked good on paper. He had gone in his youth. Sunday school, etc. August had read it some, to learn what it was about. And what it meant to him. It was part of why He did not presently attend church. The disconnect between what was said and heard.
Rex offering up a Bible. Either he had thought the request was for teaching on faith, or else… Faith was personal to Rex, and it connected to his magic. On the level.
“Thank you.” August said, politely. He patted one ear, to sort of treat his hearing. Had He gotten damaged? Concussed? No? “The Bible has to do with your magic, right? I asked about spells. Magic. I mean, if you’re offering to teach me faith and give me an extended hand and an offer to come to your church, I absolutely accept, because I respect you, Rex.” August was being sincere. He would try anything once.
Rex was a … friend? If not fully, then… He had shown up when called. August respected that. He could do more on his side to foster a friendship, build up that trust. Even if He was not a truly good person. Catty manipulator that He was: Rex could take him to church, yeah. He would not combust. Not at first.
He needed to foster relationships with other mystics as well. Build up the bond of trust. The group needed to be more than a loose web of contacts if they wanted to survive, and thrive.
He could figure out how to bring in any teachings Zerex gave him, into his world view. If he tried. Maybe. He’s could try. Maybe the mystics could start a Bible study group? He’d make flyers for the library!
“Shutting~” He said whimsically. Blame it on having been attacked. Maybe head trauma, some? Who knew. Rex was definitely (not) holding up seventeen fingers.
The mystic man was in front of him now, motioning him to back up. Leave, maybe? Fire escape. Leave his…. Friend? No one calls him chicken…. To parrot someone.
“B’kawwwwww!!”
Something slapped down of the edge of the roof. Away.
“Did He just…” turn into a chicken by breaking a tablet shaped like an obelisk? “Decide discretion is the better part of… well that was convenient. You should teach me offensive spells. Rex.” August would offer up trade. Rex teaches him offensive spells and He teaches Rex offensive phrases and words. Fair trade.
—
Chicken man clucked as he landed on the street below. Anticlimactic, yeah… But He would have gotten caught, or worse. And He could be a chicken. He’d just have to find Bonnie, then she would undo the enchantment from the artifice He had utilized. He percked once at something on the ground, then started the chicken walk of shame home.
—
August chuckled to himself, late on the joke. Rex had said ‘no harm, no foul’. Fowl….
The magic shield was good. Sure. Okay. It was great. Could he take it?
He had targeted the rude kid because he’d been witnessed doing crime. A crime of opportunity, to remove witnesses. A bullying move. Now there were two people. This was getting out of hand.
A true bully would flee.
He could take the shield. He could take it. He—
Will bolted towards the edge of the roof, away from the man with the shield.
August stared weakly at a fleeing back.
“Breaking and entering. Or vandalism…” August said. His whole body hurt. He couldn’t even remember the sequence of events now. Had He thrown a brick? Really? “Chicken wanted to kill a witness I guess.” He finished.
Muscle wizard remembered he was a mage just a second after August hit him in the ground. He reached out, grabbed hold of the man with a bulky hand, said a few words, and hit him with a shocking grasp. Then he extracted himself from the melee as August lay on the ground, stunned.
“Ughhhhhhh.” August said.
Hrm. The man will realized silence had finally dropped. Maybe he had lost concentration with the attack to his— but whatever, he would have to cast it again. Easy, except someone new came onto the scene with a dynamic entry. He turned to glower at them. Then he did a hula type dance, and at the end of it, shouted OY and threw a ball of electricity at Rex.
The ball split and crackled until it formed a ring. It sailed at the newcomer, dangerously.
August looked up just in time to see it nearly at Rex’s space. Kind of a slow moving projectile. Maybe if… he channeled magic. Maybe if he distracted the Will guy.
“Your mother sucks *^%* in hell,” August shouted. An attempt at cutting words. The electric attack went wide as Will turned to blink at him.
“Does what?”
“Sorry, Rex.” August said. “Only thing I could think of.” He’d just been presented with a young priest.
He clambered the rest of the way up the fire escape. Did not give the newcomer attention.
>>> “August, are you okay?"
The minor illusion of the arrow vanished. A moment later, illusory words spelled in pretend flame said: no. help.
A moment later, there was a meaty thump. The illusion vanished, replaced by more meaty thumps. Someone was using their fists.
—
Of all the— Will slammed a fist into his gut. August tumbled back across the rooftop, in a spin that landed him on his ass. He tasted blood. Bit lip? Cheek? Tongue?
He had lost his focus on the words.
A boot caught his leg. Ow.
The guy was not speaking, with words. Fists, yes. Feet. Body language. August reached to try and snag that foot as it came in for another hit, hurt his hand. Blocked the brunt of the blow. Bit his cheek again. Bah.
The urge to do something violent and wild with magic hit him. He hit him, in the foot. The leg. Weak hits, slaps really. Clawing at pants, clutching material in a fist. As guy reeled back punch, and
Breath left
No create water spell conjuring in lungs. No summoned Flame or hell fires. No dog portal splinching him into a wall. No Rock dog (hell yeah rock dog.) No magic. Not even Magic He could not do, without risking wills Magic. Desperation moves. No, he scratched the man’s hand as he withdrew it, then took in a big gasp of air and surged forward in an attempt to tackle legs from beneath man. By miracle, it actually worked. Man fell. Feeble blows rained down. Silent scream. August did not think on why the other mystic was playing muscle mage. He just finished his weakling combo with a heafbutt to the man’s crunchy nose.
Crunch.
The man laughed.
August punched him in his apple berries. The Laughter stopped.
