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.
Done with the dog, the friendly smile settled like a warm blanket over the boy. Encouraging, personal. Nothing like those social smiles you always get from people who conveniently forgot your name despite ten years of continuous contact in school. This was a smile of remembrance, an embracing smile. As he spoke it changed though. Her head dropped in his direction, shoulders hunching a bit to get closer. Her eyes closed as well. As if there was something she did not want to see. Or something she wanted to remember.
The words coming our of her mouth though... those were definitifely something different. Earhty undertones made them sound almost like... swearwords. "Do speak up young man. These old bones tend to rattle too loudly for me to hear whispers." And indeed the woman had trouble hearing. The last five years had been an experience for her she had rather not have had. Or in other words: Her age had inevitably crippled her senes, which had come both as a sneaking and devastating blow to a lively woman. A woman who was still lively and active (cynical tounges at the mansion would say: too active).
She righted herself rather suddenly, opening her eyes again. Now sanding erect and slightly queenlike she announced. "Ans while you tell me again, come in and have a cookie. They are fresh." Something of a needless pronouncement as the smells were now near-overpowering now. But there it was again, that old smile, as the woman turned around and began to shuffle through the grand entrance hall with its ancient paintings and worn, creaking steps in the direction of the kitchen. Her steel-tipped cane made clinking noises on the dark polished hardwood floor. From somewhere in front of the a child screaqmed merrily about baked goods in the kitchen. Sounds of life were closing in on them. Or they on them. "You like chocolate." It was not a question but a statement of fact. Most every teenager liked chocolate.
Granny... the crazy old witch... smiled at the youg man in the way sweet old people did. "Why, I thought you could work with moving metal... and this Id like to train with you." Spoke it with the most adorable east coast accent and... one of the anvils lifted off the ground, glowing sickly greenish. It flew straight at Cafass' face. Because anvils are sneaky like that. And old people have no consideration whatsoever.
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The End had come and gone. Just another day. Her dress was immaculate. She was not even carrying around a bruise. Things might have somehow smelled different of the stench of the burning city on the skyline had been pushed towards the Mansion. It had not. If the streets full of abandoned or damaged cars had reached to the front gate. Yet they had not. Things still smelled beatifically in the mansion garden, but those notes had soured to her nose. The flowers would have to go insofar they were not of the edible variety. They would have to go soon. Maybe she would be able to ask one of the kids with a fire mutation to do that job. Afterward the ground needed turning. Then the seeds would come.
But the room they had was not big enough, considering that they would need to shift to a form of economy that had not been seen in the 2000s except in some of the bleakest regions in Africa. Subsistence. A word that even she had nothing much to relate to except pictures of her old home. Memories of the time-before-the-time. Some people would have to go. Some already had. Some even had left on their legs. Others had died as the building was damaged by the blast wave. Things that she had escaped by using her powers of protection. Almost instinctive that reaction had been, instilled during training in a black ops unit that the military still denied knowing the existence of. Had denied. Now probably no one still knew.
Somehow the end of your world did little to change your perspectives. The ones of decades at least.
The attack came not quite unpredicted. People of the Mansion had been milling around trying to prepare for a few days at least. The old Lady had done a bit. Cooked food that would keep a long while in backpacks. Prepared stores of nonperishables in the lower levels. Helped carry things by ordering them around and generally organizing a post-apocalyptic horde of teenagers that were in shock. In all it did not differ substantially from her usual occupation. And the attack still came as a shock.
She was one of the last ones to enter the lower levels, the tunnels made for just this case – not the end of the world, but that of an attack with overwhelming force. She went as one of the last, because where she went, the tunnel was sealed by a barrier of green light behind her. No she had decided. These people would not get her children. Not if she could help it. Not a single one. What would happen after they left her care was another matter, but here she could still put her old bones to some use. And she would. No one passed her that night. Two men tried. Died.
Old Soldiers might not be bold, she told her astonished students, but they are still soldiers.
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We shall see She thought as she passed the man on her way to the entrance of the restaurant. Letting herself keep a bit of distance. Just enough of it for him to have a nice view of her backside. Because, just because... it looked nice and she knew it. Saying she was while walking, husky voice carrying slightly... "We shall try and see. There are some things I like. Others make me wild." Just like that. An independent woman, she went inside, leading the way like a general led the charge... No, wrong image. Maybe like a woman fleeing, just a little bit? With swaying hips again.
The restaurant looked nice and cozy inside. Maybe just that little bit of shabby that indicated it was not a touristy spot but rather one that was frequented by the local populace. Also it was not her style. Much too booorish, but then again she wanted to experience local cooking. Local men she wanted to experience, too. And, going by the smells that assaulted the nose in that restaurant, those were both containing a bit of lobster as well as unwashed man-sweat. Mhhh. Sweat. A few glances were gliding over to her frame. Over her frame. And then proceeded to fall back into their owners respective soups.
She ordered a table for two with the moderately-well-dressed waiter, proving herself American right away and illicited a funny look. He simply pointed towards one of the free tables and said "there Madame." In a French that was slightly cold. It was also obvious from the tone that he thought unmannered foreigners were not quite welcome in his establishment.
It had been sunny that day. Warmth had stood in the air like a person to talk to, creeping through every crack and crevice. It had invaded every house and every street. Sometimes there had been resistance, but progress had, at large, been unimpeded. The air had been flirring, cutting sabres, drawing things out like snakes in the distance. A mess of snakes coiling around themselves. Granny knew these things. She had seen a lot of summers. Had been through a lot of summers. Late summers even. She had seen the great droughts and the great floods of almost a hundred years and according to that measure, this summer fell short of anything but being mildly irritating. Nothing more than something you could remark upon in polite conversation.
The flowers of the Mansion garden had taken to the sun beautifully. A plethora of fragrances wafted through open windows opened in the early evenings to catch the beginnings cool of the night. She wore light summer dresses, linen even, laid in artistic rumples. Summer was a time to remove some old habits and maybe shock the staff of the mansion (and the students) with another oddity that the old lady was so apt at pulling out of her nonexistent cylinder. A black, shiny cylinder she could call her own indeed. Though it was a relic of some chance meeting with a man earlier in her life. Back when these things were actually worn. And back when she had been what was called a vamp today. (Also she had been, as a teenage girl would now say haaaawt. And still was. And no, not because of the weather.)
The heat had had another beautiful effect. It subdued most of the more irate students and led to many a time of lounging and grilling at the residencies pool, which became one of the pivotal points of life during the summer months. She herself had gone swimming with a nice feathery protective cap earlier that day to the greater disappointment of students who hurriedly left the vicinity. Possibly to their respective classes. Hopefully they had. She would check later. Infamy had its benefits she rather consistently found out. Also if you were a Dragon Woman with green telekinesis, sometimes people tended to stay clear of your bad side. That apparently included vacating nice spots in the pool for her.
At the pool she lay now in her modest bathing suit. (She had found a great online shop that sold nice items for people not willing to display themselves in a bikini.) And she was surprised by the light. The horizon suddenly turned bright-white. So much light there was that she had to turn around immediately, lest her eyesight be damaged. Already they stung with a fierceness that she would remember till the end of her days. And it was not because of the brightness. It was because she knew what that light was. She knew from newspapers articles read a long, long time ago. She knew from Vietnam. From her Army training. From seeing pictures of the City of Hiroshima, which the youth around her did not recall. She knew. And she cried as she wrapped herself in her protective bubble, anticipating the first shock wave to come.
The end had come. It was nuclear.
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Granny had had a very nice day. Having had no class to take care of for that day, she had instead opted for a day of studying for her Chemistry-Bsc in the library (which was unusually hushed after books had mysteriously started hovering menacingly around the heads of offenders) and then proceeded to use the rather practical application of organic chemistry that was baking. She needed a bit of relaxation after all. A flurry of activity had made the kitchen first a blinking thing that was not usually seen in a teen-infested environment and then filled it with the smell of baked goodies. Chocolate chip cookies were soon out of the oven and had started evaporating into the mouthes of said infestation as soon as the smell had started making its way past the closed door of the baking area. Presently there were apple tarts with almonds taking up all space in the big oven.
A knock from the main doors penetrated her meditative silence, invading the private thoughts she had had. About making some concoction of chocolate and chillies that might be unpalatable to younger mouths but which she had learned to enjoy during a stint to hawaii about a year back. And yes, she had also been surfing there, much to the chargrin of her doctor. That man had proceeded to tell her all about her old and brittle bones. A smile had shut him up. That and the old woman actually saying something along the lines of: Old people need their little rewards as well.
But back to the noise at the door. Granny retrieved her walking stick from where it had leaned close to the door with nothing but a small application of her will and then proceeded to open it by the same means. Then the old lady slowly started hobbling forward to the door. Sadly she had not yet figured out how to move herself using her powers. That might be something good. But then again it would probably increase that damnable stiffness that proceeded, year after year, to invade more of her joints.
After a few minutes - Miles would have to endure that wait - the doors into the Mansion opened up. Out strolled an aged woman wearing a flower-printed dress that was slightly too large for her failing frame as well as the smell of baking and chocolate. "Welcome to the Mansion!" Her voice was a warm alto that had aged rather well. Slightly rheumy looking eyes found first not the person but the dog that had taken his place at the doors. "Such a good dog." She mumbled loudly, while proceeding to pet the animal with well-manicured hands. And no, she neither seemed to notice the eyes, nor the unusual size of the animal. Or, living at the Mansion, she was so accustomed to strange beasts wanderin in that she simply did not startle easily.
Her eyes suddenly piercing found the young boy at her doorstep. "And what might old Granny do for you, boy?"
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Her old voice cut across Ginas... attempts. Horrible faliures she called them, a bit more truthfully, in her mind. Horrible, horrible things that burned, just a little bit, her retinas. Like those cheeks. Who thought a Gargoyle could blush that pretty a shade of pink? It appeared to her that the young woman needed a bit more guidance. A firm hand to close around those... well actually not like that, you guttermind. She needed a firm hand to guide her into perceiving her body as something wonderful. Something beautiful. And here, Granny thought for herself, lay the transformative power of dance. You learned to feel your body. To learn its limits and little aches. You learned how it moved and stayed silent.
You learned confidence in your body. In your abilities with it. Self esteem and all the good things. That was why she loved dance even in her old age. Her aches were bigger, her movements a lot slower than what they had once been. Everything was different. Any yet the woman who danxed today was confident as her voice exploded through the room sharply calling the girl to order.
"No, no, no! Just like this."
And indeed fully without shame, Granny produced the most awe-inducing display. Should anyone ever repeat this performance outside the room, she would get anvilous. But here it was ok as she flounced her flowery skirt and laid hands on. Her hips. She did send them bouncing. Her hips were doing things she had not shown Gina yet. It looked very much... sexual. That was the only word for it and the old woman had absolutely no qualms. She also, it was quite obvious, had absolutely no shame whatsoever.
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Ah, young people... Granny watched the drama unfold quite passively. The dragon-shifting, the tackle attack. Assessing she was, actions, times. All went into a catalouge in her head. But then she proceeded to intervene. Finally her students might think. Even as the General rolled down the slope she turned around towards her students and announced: "Program stop." Things downslope did as the aging alto commanded and obidently stopped mid-motion. Observant students might have noticed the leaves on the trees freezing mid-motion as well. The slight breeze was nonexistent now. But the three on the hilltop generally were. Granny gatheres her skirts in one hand and hiked them up a bit for better walking.
"Come on..." She said to her students as she slowly paced down the hilltop to where the army was frozen in the frantic process of assemblage. She then started explaining, though one was still a big stuffed toy. "Thank you for participation. That was a quick reaction test by the way. Sam..." (She now proved that she had indeed read the profiles of her students.) "...you might want to consider training some more with our physical defense teacher Mr. Johnson." Though making that recommendation galled her more than slightly. The dislike between her and Sam Johnson was becoming the stuff of Mansion legends already. The young, hunky phys-ed teacher whom every girl loved (and who loved every girl as Granny would rather hotly contest) and the old frail woman of sometimes violent temper were two poles of Mansion extreme. Two poles that produced sometimes quite violent explosions.
But back to... matters at hand. Granny was slowly hobbling down the slope, her well-aged bones requiring as always the tempered care of the elderly. "Teddy, you can shift back now..." Still on the move she was. And now... what?
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The old woman was not shy. She smiled back broadly. Yes, the smile said. Yes, that is how its done. And indeed she proceeded to step back a few feet and showed Gina again, quite slowly, what she had in mind. Rolling hips and a smiling, wrinkled face... who would frame resistance? "Now try again!" Her voice was full of encouragement. Like the colors of the room it went through the full spectrum of her range. She rolled her hips again and then started clapping an easy rhythm with her hands.
"One, two, three..." Rolling hips. Repeat. "Yes, thats it!" Oh she could be quite encouraging when she wanted to. (She rarely wanted, but that was another matter. Old people have a right to Old People Grumpyness (tm).) It went on a few minutes until Gina had the hip rolling at least passably done. In between her hands like feathers corrected the young womans posture. And then came the next part of the lesson...
Shaking your upper body suggestively. She even managed to say "Yes, send them bouncing..." with a totally unconcerned voice. As if things could get worse for a shy young woman. Granny certainly did not think this odd at all.
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Ah, the Old Ladie never lost her composure at the loud noise. Though she did regard the rising plume of dust from the trees with a sort of slightly confusd fascination. She se emed almost meditative in her contemplation of the results her little stunt had produced. Maybe lost, as old people so often were, in the way-back-then. Not quite here anymore, are we? And indeed she was not. She recalled her more youthful (and, as she would say, more adventurous) days. Back when she had had an occasional need to do something impressive for impressionable young men. Or to them. She had been a memorable woman.
>>"I see not metal here, so unless your idea is to make me try to find what things my mutation does not affect, we might need a different simulation."
Her student for the evening had had a question though, and she turned rather deliberately to face him. "I do think you might appreciate this." She said in tones that bubbled up slowly from her lips. Thickly like memories from far away. Her hand raised her walking stick. She shuffled her feet a bit as the act shifted her balance. Nothing dangerous yet, but really, she did not want to fall down here. And my, it was hot in that room she thought as she brought it down again with grand gesture. Well a somewhat spoiled grand gesture. More like fell upon her stick. Why did there have to be a stone right where she wanted to put her foot? She was still cursing under her breath when the wooshing sound appeared.
Wooshing sound... like air being forcefully displaced... from overhead. QUickly getting louder, very quickly. Noise it was now. Now it was becoming...
*tschunk* There was a plume of dust. An eruption of a miniature volcano maybe ten metres away from the pair. That and a notable shockwave going through the ground. Like something had hit a big gong. Cafas might note that there was metal in the savanna now. As the dust began to clear, the shape emerged slowly, glinting into the luminosity of the sun. Another something Cafas should be familiar with. An anvil was lying in the desert. *tschunk* make that two Anvils. *thunk* three.
Granny had made it rain. Anvils. In the desert.
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Telepaths scream for confrontations with Old Women (who happen to have swesome mental powers. With Anvils.). Im going to give you a tentative yes on Granny, though its... tentative, because I know my posting has been very erratic as of late.
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Her smile stays in place. That old smile, friendly. Granny smiles. And then she forms the words. "Mr. Johnson..." The name flows from her lips like something smelling cordially of a dogs droppings. And looking somehow like your favourite fruit... rotten suddenly in your mouth. Mr. Johnson. Every syllable distinct. Every part apart. We are not. One. Could it be any clearer? More cleanly?
"...does work on the physical aspects of training our students." Now back to sweetly saying things we know. Maybe she doesnt much hate the physical things. Despite being obviously not in good shape any more. At seventy-three that might indeed be excusable. but what do young people know of being old and... frail?
"I am currently thinking on doing a few excercises with you." She announced. Nothing more. Nothing less. What those might be she did not elaborate. But then they had arrived at the signature metal door. That might... have been coincidence. Then again Granny had taken some time with her answers. Maybe lost in though. She was an old lady after all. And old people are forgetful. Everyone knows that.
Over the touchpad at the entrance spread a green glow, creeping around slowly. Some kind of snail looking for things maybe. But then again... Granny was a Mutant, too. Quickly, very quickly, the door opened and Granny strolled in, taking no heed of her young follower. She knew the room and the layout it seemed. Was confident and comfortable here. And equally confident in the curiosity of young men presented with a challenge. The scene had changed away from the all metal interior already. A bit it was like walking through a window. (Holodeck much, are we?) She was... knowingly amused? Can one be these things together?
The scene was pastoral. Insofar as the african steppe is pastoral if you walk into it. The heat was brutal, unrelenting. The sun found you everywhere, beat upon you with such force that sweat shot out of every pore immediately. One would be drenched in minutes. Off to one side were several low trees. Thorny and gnarled things. To the right was a small mount of what appeared to be rocks. And to the front was...
an Elephant. It was colored like Cafas' hair. Margenta. Pink if you wanted. "but first I wanted to show you something." The old lady said. Not that she left the youth much time. She let her walking stick fall to the ground. It made a small cloud of dust appear around her legs. But that wasn't what drew the eye. What drew the eye was the fact that the big... pink... Elephant was being wrapped in the same kind of glow that had appeared before the entrance. emerald green. Translucent. What happened next you asked? Its not like you can juggle elephants. Or do anything else interesting with them.
Well... she trew it. Away. Made it fly. To an extent.
Drom the trees to the left there came a very... big... crunching sound after a few seconds. Granny already had her stick back in her hands. She was not smiling. More thoughtful. "They say I am a stern teacher. Questions?"
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Her performance... performing? Was... so rude... interrupted by their announcement, arrival. Being here and now. Question: Had she really not known this would happen? Had she played him this far? Had she gone further? Might she? Upon recieving the notice by the driver she... went away for just a moment. Blinking up at the man in teh front seat, sweet smile on her lips. Poison this time, no questions asked. Poison for you, bad man. Poison. The drived did not seem to notice. Or rather, in the way of people who deal with people for a living, resorted to ignoring her slightly displeased looks.
She distanced herself from Andre immediately. Moving away into her seat, abadoning the pursuits of the moment before in the process. Made now for looking young and prettily innocent. (She was made for that as well it seemed.) Shifting her shoulders, her face. A bit of lieing might have been involved there as well. How much the reader will have to infer from other sources. That the man would pay for her she made abundantly clear by steadfastly refusing to acknowledge any duty to contribute to the acumulated debt. Once payment was accomplished, she opened the door on her side. Herself. Left the car to stand upright and, hopefully, watch Andre leave the car himself. Catch his eyes over the zop of the car. Her slowly spreading smile was nothing innocent though. She was breaking her own game. Amused, obviously. maybe? Over something she might be. Had she noticed where the money had come from? Or was this a comment on the previous events? Her body left the answer open.
Her voice did as well. She liked playing games... She really did. "Delightful... soups. But of course!" Her voice made the innocent sentence sound... obscene. Something you hear in a bar in an all male group that had too much to drink. Her Alto makes it sound much too... feminine. Much too... other. Falling out of the grid with me. Are you yet?
She walks as she talks now. quickly around the car. Quickly but with swinging hips that formulate a tension in themselves. Breaking borders tonight it seems she wants to say. Breaking things for you.
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Its a wee bit late, but I might possibly throw Granny into there somewhere. She would be what by then? A centenarian? Martin might be persuaded to make an appearance, too.
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