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.
Rex knew there was a history there, between Hercules’s…nephew…and the Welldrinkers. He didn’t have many details because he had never pried. It was enough just knowing a problem existed. “Yes,” Rex agreed with a solemn nod. Even Hercules’s brand of, well, fairly blasphemous knowledge was at least coming from a place of positive intentions and geared to helping others.
“That is my hope,” Rex said gravely to William. “Hercules assures me it is possible. I….I am still trying to find my way.”
The fireman had realized early on that Hercules wasn’t a great teacher. He had endless tales of magic and abilities, but all of his anecdotal evidence left out processes and technical aspects. Rex had tried creating a spray of water on several other occasions but he’de never been able to create more than a few drops. However, he was moving by leaps and bounds in the study of fire.
In that way, the grimoire Rex had taken from Dr. Cama had proven more insightful. It was a masterclass on magic, but it came at it from an entirely different methodology as Hercules. It read like a treatise, an early scientific textbook. It didn’t delve into the basics by any means, and there was so much Rex didn’t understand or comprehend, but he was pretty sure the book was alluding to a breakdown of magic into at least six categories. Energy, Life, Materials, Obscuring, Knowing, and Manipulating. The book mostly seemed to explore the Life category and some of what Rex had read played out like a blending of magic and surgery, potentially accounting for many of the medical miracles Cama had been known for.
It wasn’t a type of magic Rex was apparently good at, but he had to believe there was more to him than death and destruction.
“Fire burns,” Rex said in a low, deadly serious voice, faint firelight starting to dance around his eyes and a soft orange glow appearing in the back of his mouth. “It kills. It takes away. It destroys. There is a time and place for that, but that will not be my legacy. If I cannot provide aid and assistance to people in need, what good is a fireplace when people are bleeding out? Even the Lord, though he sent down fire to consume his foes, is a healer and can remove our sins, our illness, our injuries. That must be my calling.”
Rex glanced back at the women. “I am…I do not want to…intrude…on your…field trip,” he said stiffly. He didn’t want to stand around as an object of mockery or…flirtation? Were the women flirting? All of this on top of realizing that Hercules wasn’t dead? It was so much to deal with.
“Oh you’re not intruding, honey,” a woman called. “We could always use another pair of…eyes.”
A third woman elbowed her hard. “Hush, Darlene, we don’t want to scare him away. Besides, you’re married too. Does John need to hear about this?”
Darlene frowned and tutted at the woman. The woman returned her gaze with a steely expression. “Apologies, Mr. Rex,” she said to Rex as she shooed Darlene away.
“Accepted,” Rex said with a thankful nod. The woman glanced at Hercules and nodded. “Mr. Hercules,” she said, before ushering the other moms away to get back to their duties.
Rex stopped his exit at that point. He actually engaged with William. “He is better than the Welldrinkers,” he said gravely. “I have come to the realization that if this is a talent I have been given, I should do more with it than merely bury it in the ground.”
Pain wracked Rex’s shoulder as he bounced off the sturdy wall. At that moment, the temperature plummeted and he could almost feel Sam moving in like a cold front. The vague lights of the candles cast everything in strange, flickering light and Rex himself had almost no night vision, a result of his prior fireball.
He was blind and in a melee.
One of the robed figures who wasn’t part of the chant extended a baton and struck the sheet of ice sticking their fellow cultist to the wall. The ice shattered instantly. Another robed figure spat some words in some Slavic language and the tattoo on her bald head suddenly shone with dim blue light as she blurred toward Sam, a faintly glowing knife in her hand.
There was already chaos, but with the suddenness with which everyone reacted and sprang into action, Rex immediately had the gut feeling these were professionals, if not mystics, than at least in illegitimate activities under the cover of night.
They looked like a job for Sam. He was the X-Men. Rex was the firefighter. He lowered his good shoulder and charged toward the star in the room as soon as he saw an opening. He slammed into someone stepping in his way and then both went down, rolling into the legs of one of the chanters and toppling the three of them into a pile of limbs.
Rex was pretty sure the kid had cast no spells, but Rex still felt his face heat up. “Uh, no, I’m…I’m…”he sputtered, blinking rapidly at the kid. Hercules began guffawing and that only added fuel to the flames. “I’m married,” he said awkwardly yet decisively. Then he realized he might’ve been overexplaining?
Lord, please let this cup pass from before me!
He regretted it immediately because unlike him, God had a sense of humor.
Amid the poorly-hidden titterings of the mothers who by this point had mostly stopped chaperoning the chaotic, spread out children, Rex’s face burned and he stiffened up even more, much like one of the nearby statues. He turned his gaze into a glare and aimed it at Hercules.
“He looks plenty big to me,” one of the mother’s said about the 6’2 man.
“Rex of the Inferno, huh? Sounds…hot,” said another, whose whispering work was terrible.
“Excuse me,” Rex said as he started to turn to leave.
The massive hand came out and resumed its grip on Rex’s shoulder. He didn’t step away this time, largely because it wouldn’t make any difference - Hercules was a very touchy-feely guy. Rex considered him an ally anyways. “Thank you,” Rex said rather stiffly in the face of Hercules’s unbridled emotional support. He nodded at the other man.
He sent a quick prayer up to Heaven as Hercules redirected his attention to the children and mothers. Rex blinked. “You have a nephew?” he frowned. He stared at the man who claimed to be an actual god. Rex couldn’t help the natural line of thought. How do you have a sibling if you’re supposed to be this Greek demigod? Is Zeus supposed to be running around siring more offspring? He didn’t say any of that though. He would’ve mere months ago, but much had changed since then.
Just like that, a kid was summoned before them. There was no chance for Rex to forestall the man or escape.
“Hello, William,” Rex said, looking down at the kid and extremely aware that he didn’t know if she should crouch down or not. He decided to follow Hercules’s example….although the lug seemed more socially oblivious than even Rex himself. “I’m Rex. A friend of your…uncle,” he said, trying to not make it sound like a question.
The X-Man was on the move. Rex nodded and slipped along after him. His hands left his pockets and warmth radiated openly from them. The chill had diminished around him, earning another nod of appreciation from, yet he didn’t dismiss the effect.
Rex took in the sorry state of the house. For all that it was occupied, it looked as though the house was normally empty, its owners long gone. It was in a state of vile disrepair. Faint flickerings of light could be seen through cracks in the boarded up windows.
“Then let’s move in,” Rex said. He double-timed it to the door and with a practiced motion, delivered a solid firefighter’s kick to the door just above the handle and lock, shattering through the decrepit wood. He reached in through the hole and deftly pulled back the dead bolt before retracting his hand and shouldering the broken door open.
Immediately there were cries of surprise and shouts of outrage amid the sounds of a continuous chant. Rex barreled into the house and immediately was nearly blinded. The living room was extremely dark, only the light of five candles in the shape of a star on the hardwood provided any illumination.
Numerous silhouettes of cloaked people filled the room. Some of them were inside the light of the star, the others milled around the edges.
“Don’t stop,” a voice disconcertingly close to Rex snarled. “We’ll take care of them.”
Then Rex was seized by the shoulders and flung into the wall by the door.
Rex’s gaze sharpened slightly as he caught the greenish tint starting to shimmer around Hercules’s tattoos. He knew it was a sign of the man drawing upon magic, which he often did in times of stress or danger. Then again, he also did it a lot when he was excited. Regardless, Rex erred on the side of wariness and he glanced around to ensure there were no obvious immediate threats.
“Lord willing,”Rex said. He didn’t expect the doctor to actually abide by rehabilitation - his casual disregard for life screamed of something dark and evil. Without some divine intervention, Rex expected nothing to change.
When Hercules's glow faded, Rex nodded slightly. “I am….well,” Rex said after an uncertain pause. There was a lot of loss hiding behind his eyes, ever-present even with the balm of learning of Hercules’s survival. I….will survive.”
Rex noticed the looks of a lot of school-aged children coming their way, as well as the looks of a few women who seemed to be standing guard while also trying to…lure Hercules over to them? Maybe get him to do something?
The laughter cinched it. There was no doubt this was Hercules. No hallucination or delusion could capture just how incongruously the man could make himself in any situation. Public museums weren’t exactly known for being quiet, but even so Hercules’s booming laughter drowned everything out.
His subsequent words further grounded Rex. The casual dissonance of religious values that were meant in no ill-intent yet felt like a slap to Rex’s face was just so…so…Hercules.
Rex’s face smoothed out and he reflexively took a half step back from the casual physical contact. “That is…good to know,”he said. He wasn’t sure if he was totally honest. Regarding Hercules's life, it was truthful. The idea that it backed up the man’s claims of semi-divinity? Less so.
He nodded as he readjusted his thoughts. “Dr. Cama was returned to prison and his sentence was extended to two lifetimes,” Rex said. Magic wasn’t an official type of murder weapon, but the use of murderous plants and non-consensual control was. “He will be placed in solitary confinement with standard anti-manipulation mutation measures in place.”
Rex’s grim smile conveyed what he thought about that. Dr. Cama wasn’t a mutant, but if they thought he was, that should still be plenty of safeguards against him escaping again.
Rex staggered back as if he’d been punched in the jaw. “Hercules…” he stuttered. “You--you’re alive!” He placed his hand on a guardrail for support and stared up at the man.
There was no writhing mass of deadly flower growing out of the side of Hercules’s face. The telltale signs of rustling vines weren’t crawling beneath Hercules’s clothes. The man moved with his typical grace and speed, none of the slow, lethargic, jerky actions of the Gravevine present.
He heard Hercules talking but the words weren’t registering.
“How…how did you,,,,?” he asked.
“I came back…after…” he tried, fumbling for the words he was never skilled with in the first place. “There was just….ash….”
Ash in the same spot where I’d left you after you’d caught fire thanks to my spells. GRowing horror clashed with relief and disbelief.
Rex shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his pea coat as the temperature decreased even more. This wasn’t the first time this had happened around Sam, and Rex had suspected it wouldn’t be the last time, so he was prepared. “Father, please warm my hands,” he whispered, mentally reaching the place where he knew fire dwelt. Warmth began suffusing his hands and radiating outward like a small heat lamp, helping to take the chill away from what leaked through the coat.
They continued on as Rex followed his feet. He nodded. “Good points. There are at least five other cultists, at least one victim,” he said. It had slipped his mind to mention it before, which is why he’d chosen to request aid from the professional. “Might be more, I didn’t get details. I’m not sure all of them are mystics, but at least the leader is.” He removed his now-warm hands from his pockets and spread them apologetically.
The situation certainly wasn’t ideal. He knew that. There were so many things that could go wrong, that would go wrong. He didn’t feel up to the task - his magic was weak. Who else could do it though? There wasn’t time to find other allies in the know, to learn how to use his abilities to exorcize spirits and the like. He’d have to rely upon what he already knew and could do.
“The Lord never puts upon us more than we can bear,” he said, as much for himself as for Sam.
Not long after that, Rex felt a gentle warmth fill him. His feet stopped moving. He glanced up and only then realized he was standing in front of a run-down garage in a seedy neighborhood where abandoned homes outnumbered the good ones two to one, where even the rats traveled in small groups out of fear of being alone. Rex doused his fireball.
The skill and craftsmanship of the artists was not lost on Rex. The stonework seemed alive and vivid, like people trapped in pale time. Every muscle defined, the curvatures dynamic. Granted, the artist’s really could’ve given some of the sculptures clothing but that was Greek aesthetics for you.
Rex stood before a larger than life statue of supposedly Hercules, and it was clear the artist had never met the man. The face was all wrong, there were no signs of his tattoos, and even the body proportions were wrong, tending toward a lean swimmer’s build as opposed to a powerhouse bodybuilder. Then again, the statue was also fourteen feet high and held a bronze globe on top of it. It was supposed to be representative of the time Hercules took Atlas’s place in holding up the world.
However, for all the artist got wrong, one thing was right: the expression, wonderfully capturing the dual natures of Hercules, the joy he displayed even in the face of death and danger. That almost made up for everything else, to the point where, as Rex stood there, he could almost hear Hercules calling his name…
Then the air was crushed out of him and he was levitated into the air. Rex’s eyes bugged out and like a stiff wooden board the man froze in place as…as…as…what was happening?
He was returned to the ground and he whirled to see his attacker, a verse from the Bible dancing on his lips, when he saw him.
Live and in-person, it was the man known as Hercules. Breathing, uncontrolled by a plant, in the middle of a museum surrounded by civilians. Not dead.
“Herc--” Rex said in a strangled voice as the color drained from his face, leaving him almost as pale as the sculptures around him.
The request came on the heels of the one-eyed man who loomed out of the darkness. “Sorry,” Rex said as he switched his gaze to his firelight. He frowned and focused and then the light and heat dimmed. Now it was as a dying lantern, still casting light but no longer a beacon of brightness and warmth. “Better?” he asked.
He assumed Sam was worried about stealth. “I have no intentions of sneaking up on anyone,” he said flatly. “It’s better to approach things head-on.”
The presence of Sam included a remarkable decrease in air temperature. Rex’s breath plumed into the air. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know,” he said grimly. “I do not spend time with magic users, other than Hercules and he, well, he’s not…standard, from my understanding.” That sounded suitably non-insulting.
“Sorry for being vague,” Rex continued as he turned a corner to get back on track with the direction spell. “There’s a lot I don’t know and some things are better said in person, if at all.” He glanced around reflexively before looking back at Sam.
“Father Lorenzo at St. Peter’s Church of the Cross contacted me just a few hours ago,” he began. “He said a person had confessed to being involved with a group of people who engaged in Satanic practices. Unlike other groups, this one could demonstrate actual abilities outside the normal ken of mutations. Tonight they plan on sacrificing a victim to bring a demon to this world.”
Faint, burning flames flashed in Rex’s eyes and he fixed Sam with a look. “It doesn’t really matter what it is, does it? A person’s life is on the line and if these are mystics, they should not be allowed to continue on this path.”
More softly, Rex added, “....I hope you will keep this confidential as well. Father Lorenzo is already skirting a line of breaking the confessional in telling me. I'm telling you this because….I am not certain I can do this alone.” I am also not certain that this will not be my inevitable end.
The sky was dark and the moon was covered up by the shadow of the Earth. The stars were barely visible due to the light pollution. Weak, ancient lamp posts were scattered along the street, and some of them even worked despite years of being rock-throwing target practice.
It didn’t matter to Rex. He had his own light.
The ball of fire hovering before him, maintaining a six foot distance in front of him and acting like a floating lantern, always lighting the way. The firelight burned brightly and even removed a tinge of the chill of the air. It was deeply welcomed on this night above all other nights.
Dark forces were brewing. Rex had been tipped off by his priest, Father Lorenzo, after the father had taken a confession mere hours beforehand.
Rex had set out at once, with no plan of action, merely knowing the Lord would guide him to where he needed to go.
His feet still felt the itch to keep walking north, so Rex did. Meanwhile he counted down the minutes to when Sam would arrive. Rex had called him as soon as he’d learned of the oncoming trouble, but he hadn’t been able to tell him where he was going, only where he was. Rex didn’t know where he was going, only that he’d prayed to be led to where the dark ritual was being held.
He only hoped that he and Sam could make it in time to stop it.
The morning sun had just barely risen in the sky when Rex entered the massive stone building.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art was not his typical territory - he tended to prefer something more physical, like a sports competition. Even in his more recent times of reflection, delving into literature old and new, art wasn’t something that did anything for him.
Until today. Today was the grand opening of a new display of ancient Greek artwork and artifacts on loan from the national museum of Greece. When he’d heard about it, something had broken inside of him, as his mind rushed to thoughts of his…friend…Hercules. Ever since that day when the vile Dr. Cama had attempted to use again vivisect Hercules for the secrets in his skin, using a carnivorous plant to do so, Rex had been haunted by what he’d seen.
Rex made his way to the exhibit, but chose not to attend a tour. He wanted to take his time, immerse himself in the world from which his friend claimed to come from.
As a crowd swiftly filled the massive hall, with statues and weapons and pottery shards galore, Rex allowed himself to get lost in the moment, unaware of events around him.
Rex’s back hit a cabinet and momentary panic flashed across his face. Hercules kept advancing. The balls of flames were doing nothing. Unlike before, the fire did not discourage the plant’s advance.
Fire licked and leapt up Hercules’s body, spreading from cloth fiber to plant fire. Still, he lumbered forward. “Madre de Dios…” Rex breathed. Then Hercules began to speak.
Rex frowned as he dissected the Latin. What did that mean? Did he have time to puzzle that out?
He did not. He’d seen Hercules’s strength and Rex knew he needed to keep the man’s hands off him at all costs.
He stopped his litany of fire-creation and juked to the side, yanking Cama’s unconscious body with him violently around a gurney. There was only one other door in the room, but Rex wasn’t going to bet on it being accessible. He got a gurney between them and Hercules, scooped Cama into a fireman’s carry, and then bolted for the door, allowing the useless fireballs to wink out behind him.
