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 Adaptedâ 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.
Jon found himself enveloped in a suffocating darkness, an inky void that wrapped around him like a shroud. It felt alive, swirling like a whirlpool, and he couldn't escape its grasp. Beyond the blackness, his senses were overwhelmedâvoices of laughter, screams, and frantic conversations swirled around him, a cacophony of emotions that weren't his own, yet somehow twisted through his mind like strands of silk.
Somebody... I canât breathe... God, I canât breathe!
Panic surged within him. He wasn't just drowning in airless space; he was drowning in the tempest of feelings and thoughts pushed upon him by the powers he never wanted. Why had this happened to him? He hadnât asked to be born a mutant, to bear this 'gift' that often felt more like a curse. It was supposed to be a blessingâthe rare chance to understand and connect with others on a deep levelâbut right now, it felt like a storm that was tearing him apart.
Please... thereâs something... Dad, he feels safer now. He's getting better, calmer. Help is on the way. Thank everything, maybe Iâm not dying after all. Maybe thereâs a chanceâŚ
Hope flickered within him amidst the chaos, a fragile spark against overwhelming odds. All he had to do was hold on, just for a few more moments. He had trained himself ffor this, hadnât he? He could take control of this power, if only for a heartbeat. Suppress it, control it.
I can do this... I thinkâŚ
He focused inward, grasping desperately for the threads of his own identity in the swirling mass. Clarity was within reach; he just needed to drown out the noise. If he could find that center, find himself once more, he could reclaim his mind, his power. The storm was raging, but Jon was determined to weather it.
Posted by Jon Livingston on Oct 31, 2024 10:58:46 GMT -6
Zeta Mutant
Nexus
Uh... The normal colour.
Heterosexual
Single
5
0
Oct 25, 2024 9:41:22 GMT -6
42WalrusMutant
"Okay. Step 1. Take a deep, calming breath. Youâre doing great."
Harold followed the instruction, inhaling deeply. He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, reminiscent of when he was a child learning to find his calm amidst chaos.
"Second. If you believe this is medical in nature, you should probably call for an ambulance. If you provide the address, I can be there as soon as possible, and I can bring the mansion healer."
Harold weighed the options in his mind. As he stood in the dimly lit room, he glanced at Jon, who lay unconscious on the couch, his face a mixture of distress and serenity. After a few tense moments, it became clear to him that this was no ordinary situation. It simply couldn't be attributed to anything but a Mutation-related episode. There were none of the signs of a seizure; Jonâs breathing was steady, yet the turmoil within him was palpable.
"Thanks. Iâm pretty sure itâs his Mutation â Jonâs powers are acting up. Heâs an Empath, a reader of emotions, but heâs never lost control like this before. I only learned about his abilities when he finally confided in me; his control was so impressive, so complete. But if heâs somehow lost that control, that means... itâs bad."
As Harold spoke, he felt the gravity of his words settle heavily in the air. Jon had always been a gentle soul, able to navigate the emotional landscapes of those around him with ease. Now, it seemed, he was drowning in them, overwhelmed by a flood of feelings that had spiraled beyond his ability to manage. Haroldâs heart raced at the thought of what that loss could mean for his son.
The thought of Jon in such a vulnerable state filled Harold with a tightening dread. Could he have seen the signs? Should he have noticed earlier? Questions flooded his mind, but there was no time for self-recrimination. He had to act.
Your average studious nerd who is totally not currently adapting to this unnecessarily awkward social situation via empath powers đ
Harold finally located the number he'd been desperately seeking, his heart racing as he hoped it wasn't too late. He dialed with trembling hands, each ring amplifying his anxiety, echoing like a countdown in his mind.
âHello, Mr Shinbo here. Can I help you?â
The calm, steady voice that answered brought an unexpected wave of reassurance. At least there was someone on the other end, someone who might understand. Suddenly, something stirred within Haroldâa fragile flicker of hope. Now, he had a chance.
âYeah, my son⌠well, he's a Mutant,â Harold stammered, emotions tumbling over one another like a roaring river. âI don't know what's happening⌠He isnât waking up. Heâs hyperventilating, like heâs in pain. Please, you have to help! I donât know what to do!â
Each word felt like a desperate plea, laden with a fatherâs fears and the weight of uncertainty. He could hear the faint, steady inhalations of Jon in the backgroundâhis son's breaths rapid and shallow, a stark contrast to the calmness Harold sought in this stranger's voice. He was battling a storm of emotions, the kind he had rarely experienced in his 40 years of life, and all he wanted was to reach through the phone, to connect with someone who might have the answers he so desperately needed.
Mr. Shinbo, a name that meant little to Harold but promised so much, was an unknown quantity, yet his very presence felt like a lifeline. Harold's mind raced with questions about what this man could do, what he knew about Mutants, especially with Jon being one. He hoped fervently this wasnât merely a conversation with a stranger, but the beginning of salvation for his son.
The silence that hung after his words felt heavier than the words themselves; Harold was left to hold on to that flicker of hope even as dread clawed at his chest.
Posted by Jon Livingston on Oct 29, 2024 12:10:59 GMT -6
Zeta Mutant
Nexus
Uh... The normal colour.
Heterosexual
Single
5
0
Oct 25, 2024 9:41:22 GMT -6
42WalrusMutant
theultimatexmen.proboards.com/threads/recent/15617 This may be a bit out of context if you don't read the thread, so I reccomend it. I was given advice that at this point usually another person would join the RP and answer the phone. Could somebody please do that? Also, the person answering should be a member of the X-Men, given that's the number Harold is phoning
Your average studious nerd who is totally not currently adapting to this unnecessarily awkward social situation via empath powers đ
Posted by Jon Livingston on Oct 29, 2024 11:14:28 GMT -6
Zeta Mutant
Nexus
Uh... The normal colour.
Heterosexual
Single
5
0
Oct 25, 2024 9:41:22 GMT -6
42WalrusMutant
3PM, Washington Street, Apartment (Livingston Residence)
Jon felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him as he sealed the envelope and placed it in the mailbox for Dougal. The world around him felt both overwhelming and soothing as he navigated the familiar stairs to the second floor corridor. He could barely muster the energy to flick off the light before he fell face-first into the comforting embrace of his bed, pulling the sheets around him like a protective cocoon.
But soon, sleep wasnât peaceful.
It began as a whisper, the sound of emotions swirling around him like a tempest. In dreams, he found himself drenched in feelings that were not his ownâthe chaos in his mind overridden by the cacophony of voices and emotions from everyone in their block. Each sensation crashed against him like waves in a stormy sea: joy, anger, despair, longingâeach sharper and more vivid than the last. He gasped for air, but it only filled him with more weight.
Jon squeezed his eyes shut, but there was no escape. His own mind was a prison, each thought spiraling deeper into a vortex of conflicting emotions. Every creak of the house, every whisper of the wind outside felt amplified, a cacophony that clawed at his sanity. He could feel Harold's quiet anxiety, a deep-set worry that clawed at the edges of his thoughts, but it was so much more than that. There were neighbors tooâfamilies celebrating milestones, couples engaged in silent disagreementsâand even the remnants of sorrow from those who had lost their way, weighed down by grief.
âHelp me,â he tried to scream, but the words never left the desperate void of his mind.
In the living room, Harold Frederick Livingston, professor and devoted father, was still buried in the pages of âHow to Raise Your Different Child.â The dense prose was meant to guide him through the challenges of parenting a mutant son, but it felt painfully inadequate at that moment. Instead, his attention flickered towards Jonâs room as an eerie sound reached his earsâa muffled cry that sent a jolt of fear coursing through his veins.
He dropped the book and rushed towards the sound. The moment he stepped into Jonâs room, panic surged within him. His son lay tangled in the sheets, a mass of limbs as he hyperventilated, sweat beading on his forehead. Haroldâs heart sank. Jonâs face was twisted in torment, every strained breath living proof that his son was trapped within a torrent of emotions far too vast for him to comprehend alone.
âOh god,â Harold whispered, brushing a trembling hand through his thinning hair. âPlease, no... I canât let this happen.â Desperation ignited in him; he remembered Jon mentioning a school â Xavierâs Sister School â meant to assist kids like him, but the memory felt like a dim beacon in a thick fog. âThere has to be a number here somewhere!â
While Harold frantically searched for a phone, Jonâs struggle deepened. It felt as though his heart was being squeezed in a vice, each emotion overwhelming and unsustainable. The elation of a childâs birthday party flooded in, and he could almost taste the sugary cake mingling with the bittersweet undercurrents of a spouseâs quiet disappointment at the edges of their joy. It was too much; he couldnât hold onto any of it.
Through the haze, Jon sensed his father, a beacon of calm amid the chaos, but even that was complicated. Haroldâs worry intertwined with his love, creating a soothing undertone, but it was too lateâtoo late for Jon to reach out, to ground himself and find some semblance of control. The emotions engulfed him, and he barely managed a thought, his essence tethered to the storm swirling within.
Help!, he thought again, but this time it felt like a distant echo, lost amidst the whirlwind. The shadows of his subconscious tightened their grip, shielding him from the overwhelming tide outside, but the safety felt like betrayal. All it did was trap him deeper in this roiling sea of feelings.
As Harold rifled through drawers, scattering papers and pens, Jon was locked in a battle, fighting for clarity within chaos, with the profound realization that he was not just alone in his struggle; every thread of emotion connected him to others, yet all it did was amplify his isolation.
Your average studious nerd who is totally not currently adapting to this unnecessarily awkward social situation via empath powers đ
Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Cambridge, England (previously) New York (presently)
Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: White British
Appearance
Hair color and style: White, often straight and neat at a medium short length
Skin Tone: Pale
Eye Color: Blue
Height: 176 cm
Build: Slim, semmingly unathletic
General Physical Capabilities: Most Capabilities are average for a boy of his age, save slightly above average reflexes and belwo average strength.
Other features: Glasses
Sleepwear Often Pyjamas, specifically a t-shirt and trousers.
Everyday clothing style: Neat and slightly formal, usually with his faviroute beige cardigan
Uniform: currently N/A
Character
Personality: Jon tends to usually be rather calm and bookish. Some may call him "cold" or "aloof", but that's mainly just due to a mild lack of social skills and a low interest in making friends his age or otherwise. He is trustworthy and a good listener, but can sometimes become overfixated. He also has a rather sympathetic side - almost definitely a direct result fo his mutation.
Morality: In the typical D&D spectrum, Jon is Lawful Good. He is kind and doesn't tolerate people being caused suffering by others, and believes firmly in law and order. He is logical, studious and organised in most things.
Hobbies/ Interests: Jon likes Reading, History and the occasional Video Game. His main Athletic interests are Gymnastics and Swimming.
Job or part time job and description: Student
Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Arachnophobia
Special talents: Semi-Photographic memory
Mutations
Mutation description:
Empath Jon has the ability to sense the feelings of others, and transmit feelings to them. This can be done over a short range or touch, but touch is easier and offers better results. He can occasionally trace why people feel the way they are, but doesn't like doing this - he views it as an invasion of Privacy. In other words - he can link to people and sense their emotions.
Weaknesses and Limitations:
If he's trying to read another Phsycic, especially one on a higher power level than him, a number of things can happen. Generally, the link can work two ways: people can use his mutation back on him, or just straight up lock him out of their mind. Doing a lock forcefully tends to knock Jon out for 1-3 hours. The Phsychic link doesn't usually last very long, and it takes concentration to keep it going. His current maximum is half an hour. He can't usually link to more than 4 people at once, more than that is taxing on his mind. The range of his Link is usually around 30 feet.
History Of Your Character
Jon Livingston was a boy of 15 residing in a quiet little town in Britain, and he had an uncommon trait. Coming from a way respected family, he grew up in the auspices of his single father's devotion to the cosmos, since he was a Well-knowledgeable professor of astrophysics. Nestled in his garden, haunted by books, enlightened by symposiums about universal secrets, and crouched for musings, such was the demeanor of Jon: remarkably innocent and overzealous-not just about the stars, but human emotions too.
Even at a very young age, Jon had an innate sense of otherness. A whole world of human emotion sometimes assaulted him when he sensed their feelings. A mere lunch with his parents turned into a kaleidoscope of feelings; jubilant laughter mingled with stark undertones of anxiety, joy jostled with lingering undercurrents of sadness. So whereas for most kids sharing their emotions with their friends meant celebration and comfort, Jon often retreated into a world in which the cacophony of other people's feelings would quiet to a whisper. The very thought of stepping forth-for instance, letting them know how he felt, or soaking up their feelings-seemed to spin the dial into the red.
His childhood friends in Britain - kindred souls such as Dougal whose love of books, World of Warcraft and science resonated with Jon-gave him ready comfort. Their gaming somehow let imaginations take flight, exploring the universe together, albeit in their limited way. With every friendship, however, came further complexities of feelings, of which Jon felt with great depth. Understanding and supporting them was his desire; his gift was his guide to sailing through their ebbs and flows.
When Jon's father was offered a job teaching at a New York University, the offer was too much to resist. One moment Jon was in Cambridge, the next he was struggling to adapt to a Country he had never been to before. The experience was a bit overwhelming, and Jon struggled. He went back to his usual quiet tendencies as a coping method, to his father's partial worry.
Jon eventually heard about Xavier's Sister School for Gifted Youngsters, and was excited at the idea of a place where he could use his abilities without judgement, in a community of similar people. He is currently figuring out a way to join - his father has a bit of on/off knowledge on the school, but he views that if his son is actually integrating, it's a good thing.
Roleplay
Whatâs your OOC/Discord alias youâll be using?: 42WalrusMutant
Where did you learn about this site?: I literally searched "X Men RPG Browser". I like niche RPGs like that.
Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: None
Sample RP:
It was around 8PM at night when Jon decided to write to his friend Dougal. They hadn't really spoken since he moved to NY, given they were an ocean apart. Writing a letter seemed the only reasonable way to do it - he couldn't link that far away, and he never told Dougal he was a mutant. It would be a shock. Not only that, but a Text or Email had a haphazard chance of working over such distance. Therefore - written letter. He picked up a pen and began to write in his usual spiderlike loops:
Dear Dougal,
How's life in Cambridge? Actually, ignore that, you'll be in Aberdeen by now.
Jon silently cursed. Dougal's family went to Aberdeen with their Grandparents for the Half Term.
Dad's new job is good, and he's still trying to find a new school for me. I actually already have one in mind.... Anyway, New York is different. Good Different. I mean, some of the people here completely alter the English Dialect to the point on non-recognition, but if you get past the unorthodox linguistics they seem good enough. We should be getting the WiFi up tomorrow, so I may be seeing you on World of Warcraft soon, doing the good old "Vylian and Baldric: Dynamic Duo" gig again! At least, if I can pull up the right server... The Internet is also different here in America.
Anyway, hope Life is good wherever you are, Dougal! Jon
He posted it next morning. At least this way... They could still talk.
