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.
Younger people might have huffed and puffed (or whatever steam-train related metaphor was in use presently) at the suggestion that she was not authorized to be here. Here. in her personal domain. Also: They might have balked at the suggestion of shrugs. Such impolite things. Nothing says "Whatever" better. Nothing tells you "im-only-interested-so-much" quite so eloquently. But alas... she was old and generous. Also she had just wielded an Elephant. That left her somewhat exhausted. (These things she did not di as regularly as she should, perhaps. People needed to keep sharp after all.)
"And I thought people knew faculty." She said most sweetly. "As you seem not to: I teach Mutation Control Classes."
Also: The Xmen. If she was right (and she had followed the news) they were a band of vigilantes that happened to be sweet and innocent and mostly interested in putting away THE BAD GUYS for good. So much young ardor. So much folly. Reminiscing brought half a smirk to her old face, making the lines in it deep as valleys. "And pray tell me, young man, what might you know of the elusive Xmen?" Just old ladies asking. You know?
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Man? Politically incorrect much? She ignored his ignoble comment without much ado. Why? Because young people did not understand any more. She was Granny Stephens. And she understood some things. Like war. Like politics. As far as she was interested in them.
"Boy, assure me of whatever you like." Her voice was one of stern admonishment. Of the unbelievers talking. Heretic she was in the world of Holiness that was the Mansion. It was the tone of age and wisdon. or it was supposed to be. Supposedly somewhere in there lay the gravitas of age. But it was well hidden behind a wall of snarky acid, liberally poured upon youthful convictions. convince me, her tone said... convince me please. It also said: You will not do it. Not because... Im unbelieving. But because you can't. I see beyond your Masks. Too old I am for games of faces. Too little patience. Too little... imagination?
"Be what you want to be, but purity and goodness have killed more people than have wars. Convictions... demand a price. Both the ones handed out from cour and those others put into your pink head." It was effortlessly emotionless her voice. As if he had no stake in things. "And as training falls into the purview of my classes, why don't we head to the danger room?"
her walking stick made appreciative noises on the ground. Or mocking ones. Meteronomic clacks that underlined her statements. Her slow movements telling of her age. Carefully. Effort hidden behind the skin like her veins. Shining through. Who would believe that she was the stern teacher? Many it seemed.
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The challenge in her shoulders melted like Ice in the sun... melting like butter on your tounge. So good I am for you. Enough to make your wish come true?... Am I not a bit of Apple? Poisonously innocent. Somewhere she was. Somewhere in your shoulders. Leaning into the man. Brushing against him... some more of you? The hand from her lap rose and climbed on the mans chest... not very innocently. Feeling the texture of the cloth that lay there. Feeling the breath that made his chest rise. And slightly, ever so lightly, feeling the heartbeat. Can there be a greater invasion? I feel your... life beating. Away, away. I see you, ultimately. Intimately.
Rising already?
His words were rising in her. Rising deeply in her stomach. Going down like oil and sugar. Honey, honey. Only that she knew - at least suspected - in her jaded way. He might just be employing against her what she was doing to him. Charming, chearming your way into your... heart? for me to you. From me to you. My hand on your chest. My feelings? Anxious. Interested. A bit more... controlling. Myself or you. That is the question of import.
Her voice was... sultry? "Such dangerous questions..." Do I sound dangerous to you? Her hand was moving upwards. Still not really touching, only sharing... warmth. Her breath was light as her touch. Feathery moving. Chest rising, falling. "We do need someone who knows the lay of the land. Among other things..." Indeed, we do. We... as if there was no question any more of who was in charge. there was none, naturally. She spoke for the men. For all the men. Now. She subsumed him in her "we", made him hers. Her lips said so.
Who thought a girl from a backward island could be like this? More than she was ever born to. Who when not him? Would you understand me? Please? It is my desire. Unspoken. Questions.
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That was what she thought upon seeing the girl names Gina make her attempt at dancing... it could be worse. Not by much, mind you, but it could always be worse. Not so much a matter of the skill in itself it seemed to be as a lack of certain coordinative abilities coupled with a decided lack of self-assurance. It was very teenaged, what she saw right now. The tentative approach to her wishes. The persistent questing looks that shot out from under the girls brow. It was... so long ago. She had forgotten, almost, what it had been for her back then. She was, she surly admitted to herself, too much time that had come and gone. Too much of a good thing. And too many of the bad things. Too much life, in short, it was that divided her form the situations ond thoughts of the youngsters in her care.
And then again: Not. She was a bit younger than she looked inside. A bit more... youthful than many of her cohort. Less restive. More... about things.
It was her answer to aging. Getting more youthful inside. Like Merlin himself, the magic was not without. It was the lay within that forced her. Forced her to answer Ginas dance by steps - briskly she stepped as she always did. Short steps. Forceful steps. With the bass she stepped. Into the Music.
Here... I come?
Her hands were feathery with age. Clean and lightly they rested upon Ginas hips. Like this, they said. just... lightly a push in an unnatural Direction... like this... boom... with the beat. Slightly. Granny was not self-conscious. She would do as she had to to teach the girl. Pushes. Oh, she could have made those with her mind. But hands were personal. I am touching you, am I not. Gently taking charge. Look... into my aged face.
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>> "I'm actually in sales, though not cars, and I never lie about my products. I didn't spend two years on the street, fly to the USA and join the X-men to make my living dishonestly."
She snorted. Like someone twenty years younger. Maybe thirty or forty. The woman was an Old Woman after all. With capital letters. Lines in her face expressed impolite disbelief. Impolite, because it was very much direct and directed to her... partner in this crime? Her opposite... Opposition? At YOU, YOUR FACE!
She made no secrets. Of that at least. "Walk with me." She announced imperously, for something, or someone, had had enough of youthful naivete and rightful indignation. Her arm grabbed again. This time at his. (Her skin was like pergament. Thin and age-spotted. It was smooth though. And smelled slightly of flowers.) "And do not worry, your hair is quite secure." For the moment, young man, for the moment. (She did not add that she was quite capable of not only telekinetically glueing lewd pictures to doors but also of wielding razors. Pink hair screamed for flying razors. Or swords.)
"Firstly: An Australian without shears... its quite unbelievable. Secondly: X-men do tend to lie when it is convenient. They're not Saints." Most certainly she was not one. And she was an Old WOman. Who should qualify other than she?
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Granny looked. Nothing more. She waited, for reactions, from her young student body. Or rather: Student bodies. One being now quite well along the way to becoming a stuffed toy... dragon? She could work with that. She would. But for now there was the small matter of the other student being quite obviously too terrified to do much of anything.
"Boy..." She addressed the one not presently fuzzy/furry/cuddly. "... I think your fellow studnet is quite right..." And with that she turned around and walked away from General Hilarity and his bloody weapons. The General seemed to take this as assent. Or maybe this was just the way the program was written, for immediately life infused the wooden joints and a rumbling voice announced: "Kill the Dragon!" So much for nice and quiet. Yes?
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A quick reminder in maths: Tree+ irate Elephant = broken tree + irate elephant Tree+ Telekinetic + irate Elephant = Broken Tree + clubbed Elephant. Worry much?
Well now that that was dealt with, and somewhat violently, Granny had to admit to herself, she turned to the Asian youth that had so tactfully remained at her side. (The other one, she thought, might get indeed a washing of the mouth.)
"Mad." She seemed to be tasting something unusual on her lips. And then smiled at Shin. "I am not. Though you might call it slightly irritated." Her hand made an apologetic gesture twards the Elephant that had sagged onto its legs and was still not moving. Going by the heavy sound of lungs working it was still breathing though.
"But there are formalities!" She announced, skirts swishing around her legs as she waltzed forward. "Ms. Stephens my name. Call me Granny. And you are?" She lifted an inquiring eyebrow at the Asian.
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Granny was sweating. Her old body was complaining in a multitude of places - all of them with slightly different aches. And she was (rhyming aside) utterly satisfied as the beat abated slowly and then faded into nothingness. She still looked very much out of place in her garish surroundings. breathe through your nose, old woman, she thought to herself admonishingly.
She looked at her young charge for this day and hour and slowly, very slowly, a smile spread over her features, folding the old skin in wrinkles. Her hands clutched for the walking stick that obediently came flaing twoards them.
"Your turn." She simply announced. And, like some bad wizard, she pounded her stick unto the ground. Maybe for emphasis. *Boom* maybe not. Yes, that was a bass. *Boom* Like *boom* heavily falling *boom* steps. Of some *boom* giant.
Grannys right hand made an encouraging motion. Talking was an impoosibility now anyways.
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Ghosty, my best wishes to you. May your litter be healthy! Also: Of course I demand pictures, so that around teh globe the horad of MROers might be reduced to cooing and/or squealing sounds.
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She did not let go of him. In fact she looked rather amused. Or how was it called? Bemusement. The face of a cat that had just stolen your last bits of milk and cream. Not really stolen actually, because, as everyone knows, cats (and old people) do not steal. They simply find things they have lost a while ago. And they have gifts. Certain gifts. Like bold smiles.
"So, the boy can lie with a straight face." She so did not say that. Actually, yes, she very much did. And then came another bit. "Good for you. Considered going into car sales?" Finally she released the lock she had held hostage. "Do you have, perhaps, a pair of shears?" Her eyes were glinting wickedly now. Really wickedly.
This was no nice granny. This was no despotic teacher. This was the witch from old stories. The one with the gingerbread house. She looked ready to eat the young man. Hair and all. Quite comfortably.
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The be-caned woman turned slowly to face the teenager. Then she blinked a few times in evident surprise. Had that boy really had the audaciousness to dye his hair a flaming maroon color? Or what was that Thing On His Head to be called? Pink? She blinked a few more times for good measure. Finally she pronounced in a very nice alto her judgement.
"Hello Boy." Her voice held...something. It was nice. Really nice. " Also: How are things is the proper form. And in answer: Things are Fine. How about yourself?"
She managed to stand quite stately as she faced down the youth with a smile on her lips that was indeed nice. Nicely dangerous. And there was a twinkle of amusement in her eye that had nothing to do with strictness. How might the child react to that she wondered? How indeed. And then there was more. With a limberness that belied her apparent age, she grabbed Cafas by his hair.
"Whatever you have done with that needs to go. It is not your color." Her pronouncement was accompanied by a firm tug on the locks she had gripped.
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An Old Lady was staring out a window at the Mansion Grounds. With slight amusement she reflected that her choice of dress for the day had been rather appropriate. Spring buds and greenery were embroidered on the hem (yes her dress had one!) winding their way upwards in a most antiquated and fashion. Outside spring was coming. The first leaved had already unfolded und buds were coming out among the flowerbeds. The temperature outside would be bearable. Or at least it had to b, for in her present mood she decided on taking a walk outside. Her joints were willing - it seemed bad weather had come to an end at last.
Spring incoming. How wonderful? She thought back to her classes and rumbled - quite unladylike - in her chest. These teenagers would be full of hormones now, sighing and smiling and it would be a chore to keep them in line. Not that they were much more of an obstacle to her doing what she wanted than she anticipated really. She was rapidly becoming infamous as one of the strictest teachers in the current body.
And the one with the oldest body. She sighted as her cane floated over towards her and she made her way in the direction of the next door. Out and about. Or so was the saying, was it not?
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