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 morning had been a contest of ethics, and would he, wouldn’t he questions. Real soul searching. On the one hand, it was stupid, but on the other…. Still stupid. More honorable though.
“#%% it,” **August Appleberry** swore. He arrived at the location of the well drinkers meeting on time. Listened to the grand poobah yukkity yuk of the mystic order of the waffle… took the magic transport like everybody else.
The air flickered. He appeared with all the other mystics. One individual in hundreds of cultish faces.
~~Charge their stronghold~~ the supreme grand master flash shouted. Oh for the love of…
Did he charge with them? God help him, yes he did. They approached from the woods, they approached the road and the gates. August saw Cold Steel had left his mark in the grounds.
“Winter wonderland.” He muttered. Then one massive gung ho mystic stepped forward, screamed something and did an aggressive hip thrusting, gyrating dance. A full size orca appeared in the skies above the mansion. It fell, onto nothing save a pile of snow. There was a massive scream of joy from the hung ho—- gung ho, August, calm yourself— mystic. Then august tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey yeah, don’t do that again. It’s dangerous and you should go home and stay there the rest of the day do you don’t get hurt.” His hands twirled as he cast his spell… Gigachad whale man fought it for a second, then his eyes glazed over as the suggestion took effect. He ran away in the other direction. They really needed to vet their mystic armies better.
August ran after him, out of the clump of mystics and into the forest where he saw faerie carnage. Plants catching people. Problems. Also a woman and a cartoon.
“I’m a friend a friend!” He shouted. “See? Double agent! Flee! She’s dangerous.” He targeted a weak willed man who fled. Then looked hopelessly at the side he wanted to join. And mystics looked at him.
——
Back at the grounds, the whale was deteriorating. When it fell it had made a boom like a real whale, but it wasn’t. It was turning into lime green ectoplasm jello orca. No animals were harmed in the making of this mess. But wait… it wasn’t **dead**. It began to charge the doors. Moving towards Hercules, gelatinous whale. Verrrrry slowly. But it was…. Free. Slowly evaporating, but… free. 😭
August Appleberry When the elder mystic sent out the call to join them in an assault, August said … nope. And he used his mystic powers to suggest the message carrier stay home that entire day, too. The suggestion was reasonable, nonlethal, and would be followed to its duration. Attacking a school was bad, yeah? That was a bad look. And dangerous. Someone (read Cold Steel) might get hurt. And then his dad… and others… might be inexplicably sad. He used his powers to remove one mystic from the equation.
August has two main modes of casting. The first is somatic gestures. Hands motions. Sometimes, her tosses in verbal with the sound, but mostly he just uses his hands. Sometimes, her plays an instrument. This uses ambient magical energy, or the energy he channels. Overuse starts to dip into life energy, ki, chakra, mana, whatever you call the stuff. Which is why he had a second mode.
The alternative cost for casting is items of monetary value, basically, but it is more complicated. While He can use gold and precious stones/metals, He usually uses gold-leaf painted cards. August takes time to paint them with literal gold. The act also lets August imbue each card with magic, to act as a storage device to pay costs. Using magic while holding a card causes the card to disintegrate, or “burn”. There is no physical fire, and even the ash is consumed. It leaves no trace. Small magic does not consume entire cards. Beginner level spells burn 1/4 to 1/2 a card (depending on spell strength), intermediate spells, a whole card, advanced spells burns cards, starting at two per spell, and rising. The big suggestion august used on the cataclysm, for example, burned a lot of his remaining cards.
August usually carries a deck of bicycles, 52 in count, and maybe 10 business cards. All imbued, paired with gold. He tried silver as a pairing metal, but it did not work as well. There was less value, which meant greater resource expenditure. A big magic would consume like ten silver cards, or maybe even a whole silver necklace/ring. Gold is better.
Props Deck of 52 cards 10 business cards Jewelry Hand signs
Magic
Arcana Praeditus:
Metation
Arcana Initium:
Illusion
Preferred Foci: Hand signs, or glyphs for stealth. If he uses glyphs, he has a limited supply of glyph cards kept in a pocket. They get burned out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes, he runs out and has to burn life energy through gestures. Doing so tired him out and can weaken him or his immune system.
Magical Theme:
Hexes and Mind Tricks. Minor illusions.
Snap Spell: (A spell of your Arcana Praeditus that you learned innately when you became a Mystic)
Mind Hex - aka Suggestion. August hexes someone, to affect their mind. If their mind is affected, they may be less inhibited and more willing to entertain reasonable sounding suggestions. Suggestions that lead to physical harm instantly fail.
Secondary spell:
Minor Illusion: He has practiced making minor illusions. August can create a sound or an image of an object within range that lasts for 1 minute. The object cannot be larger than a 5 foot cube, and the sound cannot be loud enough to cause harm. Physical examination can reveal it to be false.
AdditionalSpells
Inspiration August can inspire someone with timely words. This inspiration lasts 10 minutes. The spell boosts confidence, and clears away mental distractions, allowing someone temporarily to be the best them they can be. Once while it lasts, one time, they may be able to recall something, be better at a skill, be more accurate, or resist/avoid the effects of an attack. Or not. Who knows?
Discovered in the battle for the mansion by accident, when he inspired Carrick to he faster… and also inspired the cataclysm to be more effective in destroying the mansion. Um. Or maybe the last one was just an unintentional side effect of a really good Suggestion. Inspiration is a tweaked mind hex.
Spell Name: vicious mockery / cutting words
School: metation
Level: Beginner
Effect:
August weaves magic into his words, to give them greater power. Depending on how August wields them, the effects change.
Offensive Vicious Mockery The target’s mind gets hexed with a momentary blinding migraine. The Target takes a small amount of psychic damage, like a headache, and emotional damage from the hexed up insult. Their next attack is more likely to miss, due to annoyance and blinding pain. Repeated usage can actually injure, due to psychic chip damage. Makes someone feel like trash. Want to go lay down in a dark room to shake the effects of the migraine. Just leave. Maybe even barf from the pain. Nothing lethal, just awful.
Defensive Cutting words The targets mind gets hexed with crippling feelings of insecurity and self-doubt. The helpings are something they could fight through, but might make them second-guess their actions and aim? For the next few seconds, they are more likely to fail at Something, be it an action like an attack or a physical task, or using a skill (such as recalling information, or trying to be charming and persuasive to a crowd).
There is no visual cue for either effect.
Limitations:
This spell has a single target. The spell is easy to perform. Bernal. The damage is low, anywhere from a painful migraine to feeling like you were punched in the face (depending upon repeated causing). The effects last 6-10 seconds, per cast.
Cost: What is the price paid for this spell?
The spell is low level, and costs a small amount of magical energy. A gesture and magical investment, or else 1/4 of a glyph card. It is verbal. This means the drawback is the target heard what August just said out loud…everyone did, in fact.
Activation: what triggered the spell
Hand signs or glyph card, words words words
Notes: The more impressive the insult, the more impressive the results.
>> "All of modernist art is a Rorschach test if you ask me." Serena noted, glancing around. "But at least the Adonis asses are realistic?"
“True,” August agreed. “All of it. Seen a few in my day. Enough to be an expert, but if you ask me, never enough…”
He didn’t pause as if shocked to say it. He did sip his drink though. Mildly amused at his own crass ass.
Serena lockheart introduced herself, and stick out a hand. He took it, shook it, set it free.
“August, of house Appleberry.” He said. He omitted the ‘first of my name, yadda yadda’ bs. Game of thrones was lame. And yes, he knew she was The Serena Lockheart of the House Lockheart. Now, at least. Once she’d said it, it had clicked and he had recalled articles and her face plastered on pages. More, the joke was just to say ‘I know, you know I know, no big deal. Let’s not take it too seriously.’ Just to pad egos though, he added “Big fan.”
Appleberry was also a big name. A family name. His father was in television: advertising or something. He wore a big wig and was important. The name might stand out but if it didn’t, no big deal, again. Also, his name was known in the music community if you were into orchestral stuff in New York. Not top billed known, true, but second chair? Not bad.
He smiled lightly. “I’m here to support a friend. His partner did some of this art. I still think it looks like hippos, but some people love hippos.” August raised and lowered his hand in a gesture that said ‘well there you go.’
“What about you? Buying, or mingling? If you’re here for the company…” He made another gesture that said ‘well there you go.’ “Some people love the company.” And some people are bores. He would have said that out loud normally, even without any form of truthiness foisted upon them. But he had a moment of restraint. A rarity to be sure.
Can be anyone they want to be? What an interesting and useful mutation!
“Fun!” He commented.
The costume change on cue was even more fun. He was impressed. He even giggled a little. Then nodded seriously about the space buns comment.
“They are important if you want to save the world.” He proclaimed. “Or at least look like a Disney Princess.”
Disney owned Star Wars now. And marvel too. What didn’t they own? So Leia was a Disney Princess for the mouse, yes. Yes she was.
As for the what to do on a day off, and tech help. Well. “Shrug.” He announced audibly. “I was going to get a new phone, but I left my place in line. Guess if you wanted to I could drop you off here. Or you could help me set it up when I go get it, if they even still have some.”
>> It ain't easy ta have enough talent 'n dedication ta get ta second chair in an orchestra company in a a city with so much talent. I'm impressed."
August nodded matter-of-factly, but he did not dig in on the topic. Did not try and milk it for more bragging rights. Truth was truth. And truthfully, he would have been more proud if he were first chair. Ego, yes, but ego built on gravitas. Not unfounded supremacy. Ahem.
He smiled, mildly.
And then he got asked out. Oh my.
He played it off cool and said “I think I might like that.”
They could talk details later. Steampunk dance club sounded cool. He figured he could find a suitable suit and top hat. Goggles might be an issue, but…
Who was he kidding? He probably had an entire outfit in his closet already. Halloween was his favorite holiday, after all.
Des taught dance at the x mansion. A mansion for mutants. Yes, he had heard of it. And no, he doubted his parents would have donated to such a prodigious academy.
“Very well might have!” He lied cheerfully.
August set his violin back in its case for something to do. Closed it up and put it away. It was muffin time.
He turned his attention to the muffin and other things.
“So. Steampunk huh? Do I need special goggles and a top hat? What will you be wearing? Don’t want to overdress.”
So he was handsome, was he? Well, that person sure had confidence to just come out and say it. Did august have an ego? Why yes, yes he did. Was it big? As big as his head. So, humongous. He made a note to keep this Des around.
Yes, tell me about how I am handsome. And elegant? What unique phrasing! August returned the smile.
Maybe he had been a tad cautious and brusque at first blush, but if mr “I’ve been watching you, yer handsome and elegant” wanted to call him handsome and elegant, certainly he couldn’t be all bad.
Elegant though? Was he? Did he have a grace and gravitas? What makes one elegant? On a normal day, he might have said “laying it on a bit thick, huh?” But not today.
Today, his name was pretty and it suited him. August bowed his head slightly. “Thanks.”
He took a sip of his coffee, then set it down on the table along with the rebagged muffin. Now, he did not want to become a crumby person in front of Des. The muffin could wait.
He extracted his instrument case, and extricated the violin from within. The instrument was beautiful. Now THIS was elegant. The dance instructor would most certainly be able to appreciate the violin.
“I’m a violinist,” he explained. “For a New York orchestra company. Second chair. Dance instructor, huh? That must be fun. Imagine you have to go around and keep up to date on all the new dances hitting the clubs. I do love clubbing.”
Maybe he was not a great dancer, himself. He had a lot of energy and ambition, but coordination, elegance, he often lacked. That did not stop him from having a good time.
“Which school?” He thoughtlessly added. “My family might have donated to it.” Whoops!
With a name like desire, how could he refuse? He sat down.
This could be an interesting conversation. Could at least kill time.
“Been watching me, huh? Guess I should be flattered.” August said smoothly. There was no paranoid tinge to the words, no coldness at all! A perfectly passable comment.
“Nice to meet you, Des.” He was not saying the name Desire. Some people have limits, and that was a line he would not at present choose to cross. “My name is August. And you’re in luck. I had been late to practice, but they cancelled on me and now my afternoon is all wide open.”
That hasn’t sounded desperate, now had it? Because he was only being friendly. An open afternoon, for conversation. Obviously.
The bal was back in Des’s court. How would they respond?
He casually sipped his coffee, and extracted the muffin from its baggy. He should have grabbed a tiny plate. Things were about to get crumby.
“I would have said hippos, but good eye!” He said. Turned his head slightly to look in the direction of the source of the voice, and smiled.
He had only taken a tiny sip of his wine. It had tasted like normal wine. White wine. He held it and did not drink any more. Not for any reason, other than to not be drinking while speaking. Because that might be rude. Maybe a tiny sip was not enough to achieve whatever results someone had hoped for. Certainly, it was not enough to achieve the results he had hoped for (read: being drunk).
“That artist in particular has unique tastes. Personally, I thought it was kind of a Rorschach test.” August glanced around. “The statuary is pretty good though. Some real Adonis pieces.”
About fifteen feet away, a man with blonde hair and blue eyes opened his mouth to say something to one of his two dates. He utterly failed. Strange, August thought. Worthington was usually far more talkative than that. Guy could be positively flighty when he wanted.
How were his sports teams doing? His stocks? He perused his various apps, glancing up now and then as the line moves like clockwork, tick tick tick. Finally, he was up next. He chanced a glance up at the person ahead of him, right as they glanced back at him.
Their eyes locked for a split second. August returned the smile, charmingly. Then, he dropped his attention back down to his phone.
Sadly, he had been so self absorbed he had entirely missed overhearing what the man ahead of him had said, about the money and the buying him a drink. His smile, then, had not been one of gratitude, or even one of flirtation, but rather due to the awkwardness of happening to meet a stranger’s eyes when he had least expected it. And then been smiled at. And what are you going to do, when a stranger smiles at you? Stare? The smile made more sense to him when he finally reached the register, and made his order.
“That fine cat man over there said your drink was on him, and a muffin or whatever...” The young blonde barista smiled sunnily at him, and bounced her hair. “And that whatever else was left, I would get as a tip!”
August smiled thinly at her. Had she been calling the cat man fine like (foooooine), or had she been calling him a fine person? A rather upstanding citizen, pip pip, cheerio?
The thing here was, she wanted the tip more than she wanted him to be happy with the situation, or for ‘fine cat man’, whoever he was, to get his money’s worth. So she had blabbed about it with zero filter, and made him paranoid. Coming from a family like he had, becoming paranoid is hardly even a basic stretch. It’s like standing up in the morning, and sliding into a pair of warm fuzzy slippers. Comfortable.
He pressed down a ten, and made his order. Mocha. Blueberry muffin. Got it as quick as you can say ‘forced smile’, and let the woman pocket whatever differences there were for herself. He even let her keep the change. Because it is important to reward bad behavior. But to mess with her, as he told her to keep the change, he flickered his fingers in a rapid, yet stealthy, hand gesture, and said: “Don’t spend it all in one place, you hear~?”
There. Now, she was hexed. Cursed to have to find as many possible places to spend the money in as was inconvenient for her time... or something. Maybe he had just been feeling catty. Speaking of cats...
He turned, and scanned the area for sign or tail of the cat man. Found him. Raised the muffin bag in a little salute, and gingerly sipped his coffee as he started walking that way.
It would be rude to ignore the mutant who had attempted to buy his food. For his efforts, he had at least bought a moment of August’s time.
Might be interesting, he thought. The other mystics always turned their noses up at mutants, but they could at least be useful or entertaining. And they were people. So whatever. He didn’t really jive with their anti-mutant rhetoric (Felt kind of hateful.)
“Thanks,” August said. “For the coffee.” And because his brain could at times take pleasure in his discomfort, he felt the sudden compulsion to add: “I like your ears.”
I have to run, hello, good bye, I’m late I’m late I’m late!!
The words ran through his mind like the white rabbit through the hole to wonder land. He checked his watch, confirmed it, uttered a low guttural obscenity, and entered the coffee house.
Yeah. He was late. He could be later. August was not about to endure scathing criticism about his lateness, or his soon to be lateness (read, deadness) without some sort of caffeinated beverage. Preferably with chocolate. So what if it went to his hips? It was worth every ounce.
The place was packed. A good gaggle of people. His eyes scanned over the crowd. Quite a line. Several humans, some notable mutants (this was New York), and at least one person who was a true freak. Because they were wearing denim jeans and a denim coat, and most assuredly, denim underwear. Of that, he had no doubt.
He cursed again, then stopped himself as his pocket started to vibrate. August had received a text message. His brow furrowed in irritation as he read the thing.
Practice cancelled. Conductor has bad stomach problems. Sorry, C U tomorrow!
It was from one of his friends in the group. Surely, the conductor himself would shoot off a cancellation text next to confirm this lifesaver of a friend’s audacious claim. And yup, sure enough.
The conductor’s text was far more professional. It did not allude to any of the messy business ‘stomach problems’ made August think of. It merely had details.
Part of him was a little mad. He had been late, dammit. But not absent. The guy had the audacity to cancel due to a little explosive— he shook that thought and cast it elsewhere. No, this was good. Sure, he would have to change his plans for the following day, which was a massive pain in his ass, but at least he was going to remain alive after 11:00AM on this lovely Wednesday.
‘It is Wednesday, dudes.’ He thought wryly. And, yeah, he was dressed for it. In black jeans, with a black belt that had an oversized gothic gargoyle on it. And a black button up with white buttons and a white collar, black leather jacket over the whole mess. He looked like what you would have gotten if you had tried too hard to emulate Christina Ricci’s famous character from the Addams Family, for a male. Although males can most certainly wear a short black dress and black tights, if they do so desire. But he had wanted to look professional enough for concert violinist work.
His posture loosened, and he shifted the strap on his shoulder. His violin case hung against his back. Part of why he had been late had been that he’d left it upstairs in his apartment, and had needed to go back after walking 100 feet, just to bring the thing he needed most in the world... up until coffee had reasserted its claim for the title.
Okay. Well. Now he had all the time in the world to just stand in line and wait. He settled in for the long haul, behind a man with pink and purple hair.
“No,” August said dully. “Never seen them before in my life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ice Man.”
He glanced at the giant one more time, and waved his right hand dramatically... while he wiggled the fingers of his left hand surreptitiously at waist level to cast his spell.
“Help them however they need, as long as they ask nicely~ and have a wonderful day!”
Then, he embraced the notion that had been plaguing him all day, and started power walking away. Not running, but not walking at a leisurely pace. Just a little too fast.
He did not want the attention of Cold Steel. But here he was, leaving lasting impressions. Great, just great.
Hopefully, the man wouldn’t follow. Oh god, was he going to follow? He could move so much faster than him, and really, he didn’t want to start the whole relationship off with a spell to make Sam obey.
The corner of August’s mouth twitched as Zero L One started laughing. Then, it pulled into an outright grin.
He had been worried they might not think it was funny. They’d reacted so strongly when they thought it was a bomb. But now? They were good.
He chuckled as they adopted a Leia hairdo. Modeled it. Then moved on. To suggest he was a mutant.
He wasn’t. He wasn’t going to be rude about it though.
August smiled at them and said: “A master magician never reveals their secrets. That would ruin the illusion.”
Wink wink. Say no more.
He was a good liar. Now they would think he had illusion powers, when really, that was only a minor part of what they could do.
He could live with lying about the whole thing, and not having to explain magic. Even if it was totally cool and got peoples attention. Some reacted strongly to the suggestion that magic exists. Even stronger still, if you start calling yourself a wizard. Though going by dnd lore, mystics were more like sorcerers weren’t they? A special source, magic appearing rather than having to be trained...
“Dig the hair. You should totally update your avatar and make that a thing.” He said lightly. “People love Star Wars.”
He was getting chased he was getting chased he was getting— wait. No he wasn’t.
It had stopped. It was picking up... a hot dog cart.
August turned and watched with a bit of minor interest as the giant in the blinding outfit shook the cart, and... then got kicked in the head. The giant dropped the cart, and August decided the mutant had made things worse.
“That dent won’t buff out...” he muttered to himself.
The cart was pretty dinged up. His eyes rose to look at the kicker, and.
“Oh god.” He sighed, pressing a hand against his forehead. Was it really—?
He had successfully avoided seeing That guy in This city for years and years. Ever since he had found out That Person was obsessed with them. Yet, for every thing, there is a season. A time to weep, and a time to accept a broken streak. Or something... he thought that was how the Bible verse went. He wouldn’t know. He was not real big into bible humping.
Sluuuuurp. He watched to see how the giant would respond.
The giant stared at the crashed hot dog cart, eyed cold steel, then pointed from one to the other. As if to say, “You. Fix what you did.” Then, he noticed August standing there, flaunting his iced mocha. He stomped his foot, and pointed at the man.
August arched an eyebrow.
“Not a chance.”
“Grrr!”
So far, the giant with the shoulder pads had not gotten violent... Up until that point. He turned and drew back his hand to try and swat cold steel.
Oy vey. Well, he wasn’t about to let that slide. Surreptitiously, August did a quick gesticulation with his hand. Just a little finger waggling, at waist level, sort of out of sight of everyone. Sort of.
“Stop.” He said, in a commanding tone. The giant stopped, mid-strike. In an exhausted tone, august added. “Be nice...”
The giant got the sudden urge to be nice.
Sluuuurp. He sucked on his straw, and waited to see what happened next. He felt like an asshole. Stepping out of his way to help someone, anyone, Cold Steel, out. But it wasn’t as if he’d just let the ice guy get slugged. That would have been exactly what a Certain Someone would have wanted. And we cannot have that.
He did have the sudden urge to aggressively power walk away again, though. Now that the giant was playing nice. He embraced it, and started to leave.