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.
The car was small as was the design of those days. But - equally as was design - it combined its well worn utility with a sense of aesthetics that was both pleasing to the eye and touch. Lightly there hung in the car the musk of cigarettes like a remembrance of passengers bygone. As incense in a church it told the passenger of the untold number of people this wagon had ferried over the black river of Paris by Night.
The seats were rough to the touch, but not unbearably so, she found. And the hand he had helped her into the car with had been a most welcome addition. Now, now quite in keeping with the etiquette of the unmarried, she leaned into Andre as he questioned her. Leaned into him with the full force of her female wiles. Not...cheap. Her eyes were on his and were...
Challenging as the set of her shoulders.
Her lips went near his ear, almost in a gesture of romance. So small the invasions. So much for normalcy. So much for good manners. "Call me..." Her voice was not husky or musky, but rather tinged with a bit of dark humor and darker...interest? It was a place of senusality in a way, yes. But not one of the carnal kind. It was dark as the smoke that had once inhabited this cab. (The driver was only mildly scandalized by his passenger and gave occasional glances into the back mirror.)
"...Emilie." She was not... herself any more. No mere child to be confined on an island. She was here. He was here. Both were different. Her right hand rested chastely in her lap as though nothing was going on. Nothing much anyways.
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She smiled indeed. And through that smile mouthed loudly: "Music!" Her walking stick was already settling itself on something far too bright and Granny was presently limbering up. That is: She was rolling her ancient hips in quite unladylike motions. Her smile turned into a grimace. Rolling wildly. Her grimace was something that proceeded to disappear slowly. With every bit of movement things got a bit easier. Rolling. Hips.
The music started with a heavy bass line that shook the very floor on which they were standing. It moved up the legs and into the stomach, where funny things happened with the food you might have just ingested. Grannys hips found the rhythm rather quickly.
Then came lighter parts. Melody - if something electronic might be called a melody. Grannys arms and fingers began weaving around her. Up her... chest. Down. Her hips still rolling. Someone started singing. A deep male voice saying things that were decidedly not made for young ears. Gangsta rap at its finest. Criminals. Weapons. Women. And... Explosions. Because there always had to be explosions.
Granny made her legs do... things. Again they were quite unladylike. She shot Gina a look that very much questiones whether she would have thought *that* of her teacher. And spun around her axis, her skirt flowing around her like a big sunflower. Some things were better without words after all. Who would have thought the old lady to be that... limber.
The Grandma blinked placidly at the youth, who had stormed into the Danger Room behind Tetsuya. Placidly, until words about old people homes came out of his mouth. She turned to face him fully, her flowered skirt swinging around with something quite girlish. Speed.
Her right eyebrow started on a slow journey twoards her hairline. A very slow journey, as she proceeded to look the disreptuable one over. "Child be assured, if I wanted to be in a nursing home, I would. You, on the other hand, might not like the soapy taste I am going to put in your mouth soon." Her cane, as it so happened, a very solid looking one of wood, was slowly floating from her hands. "Computer..." she said calmly "... I need a tree. Midsize." And behind her something needly made its shimmering appearance.
The Elephant was on his legs now. And quite irate.
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If she had been alone, she would have permitted herself a little huffing and puffing due to her age after that long a speech. But she was not alone and children despised weakness in their teachers. At least as far as she was concerned. So she continued to proceed with her Drill Sargeant voice.
"Computer, start Program Class 101" And the world changed in a shimmering of air and technology as Photons were happily redirected and robots merrily popped out of their hidden compartments. The happy group was now standing in a hilly landscape. In fact they were on top of one of the hills and could look far in each direction. Here and there groups of trees - they had needles - dotted the landscape. On the foot of the next hill was what could be described as a colorful assortment of tents. They were not from the current age though - not the small high-tech things coul could buy in camping stores. Neither were the things strewn around the encampment. They were pointy things of metal that were designed primarily to smash in human skulls and expose viscera. A medieval army encampement of the finest sort. To Grannys right appeared a... person. If a person was formed like a nutcracker. "This..." the old woman announced with some glee in her voice...
"... is General Hilarity." The fact that the nutcracker held in one wooden hand a generals Baton and in the other a bloodied mace was maybe a hint. Quite. Subtle.
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Granny turned with a smile. "It's my classroom." She said with that smile spelling out the word 'danger' quite well. If one wanted to categorize her humor as a dangerous one. She would not. Sam Johnson would probably differ in his opinion. (And possibly something more. She had stuck a nude calendar on his office door after all.)
"And it has certain parks." Cue: Dangerous glimmer. "Computer: Activate program Granny Two." Somewhere electrons started buzzing as machinery turned alive. Lenses started focusing beams of something (and of nothing) and proceeded to change the fabric of reality (take that, perception...) with another heavy shimmering.
The room exploded into color. It was like someone had codified a bad trip on LSD and mixed it with enough neon paint to hurt the eyes of even the most recalcitrant teenager. Furniture appeared in a hodgepodge of styles and color that was almost as hurtful as their respective colorations. And in the center of it all a black square. The altar of salvation, place of celebration.
The dancefloor.
Grannys smile was slightly evil. She had to admit as much herself.
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Granny stood squarely in the center of the room as her first charge approached. Her smile seemed genuine and her hands, both of them firmly lodged on her walking stick, seemed only slightly shaky with age. A good thing that, was it not? Her flowery dress seemed all the more antique from a closer distance. As the woman behind the stick seemed more amused at noting the hesitancy of her charge.
>> "Is this the mutation control lesson?"
"Young man, it is. Welcome to my Class." The voice was a warm Alto, friendly in its disposition, as were the eyes. Her hands both lifted off the stick to make a gesture that encompassed the nearly-empty room. Interestingly enough her walking aid resisted the normal urge of physics and remained steadfastly upright despite its unguided situation. Or perhaps nearly unguided as its handle was wrapped in an emerald glow. Behind the first boy a second one made his way into the room and proceeded to close in on the pair. Her hands gripped the walking stick again.
>> "I'm ready to go."
As he announced said readiness, Grannys eyes flickered over her watch and decided that any latecomer would bear his or her shame and she would start her lesson now. She faced her charges and stepped back two steps. "Good day, Gentlemen. Before we begin I would like to set out the Rules." her voice made the Capital aptly clear. "As this is a Class involving possibly dangerous situations - training mutations is not easy business - I will make these absolutely clear for you." Her voice had changed from the friendly Alto into something resembling steel with a detatchment that bordred on the militaristic. Her small frame seemed to loom larger in the room. "First: When you enter the Classroom I will indeed presume that you are 'ready to go'. Faliure to comply with thar requirement will result in expulsion from my class and immediate faliure of the course." There was absolutely no humor in her eyes. "Secondly: When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. There will be no nagging, lagging or haggling. Faliure to comply will result - for the first offense - in detention. The second time will result in expultion and faliure of the course." Nope. No. Humor. "Thirdly: You will observe rules of conduct becoming your age and station. If you have problems with any of these rules you may conduct your backside out of this classroom at any time, but only today I will give you the opportunity to do this without marking the course as failed. Once you go I will also not accept you back into any of my classes. Finally: You may adress me either as Ms. Stephens..." Indeed. Miss. They should take note of that. "... or as Ma'am. Outside of this Class you may also address me as Granny or Granny Stephens and cry on my shoulder. In this room you may not. Questions, Gentlemen?"
The last was a firm bark. And indeed - if that should still be in question - she had been in the military. Once. In the Vietnam War. Her voice held that steel of command without any appearance of strain - there was no difficulty about. They would conform themselves or she would make them go away. She always made problems go away.
Gina was behind Granny, which probably was a good thing as one of the Giants reacted to their presence - quite predictably really - by throwing them a present. It was about two meters in diameter and consisted of icy snow hurled at a speed that was possibly - just maybe - big enough to, you know, damage something. Like... bones. Only that Granny did not much appreciate the threat at all. She turned to her dancing student as if all the world was peachy-pink and there was not an object hurled in her direction. A heavy object.
"Dear, we are in the local training facility." Her voice was all musical Alto. The ball was still whistling closer. "Which, as it appears, someone left running." She tsked lightly through her teeth, expressing displeasure at the misuse of energy. One of her hands, firmly lodged on her stick before, came up and a green wall interposed itself between herself, her charge and the snowball, splattering it harmlessly against it. Splattering with the force of a small viecle driving against it, mind you. And still. Splat. Nothing. A giant roared in obvious displeasure.
"Computer, deactivate current program." Her voice was clear and cold - she was old and did not appreciate being hit on, thank you - and the computer obligingly made the giants and the field of snow vanish and let the steel walls of the room reappear. Except somewhere in the width of the electronic programming a glitch occured. Just some few misplaced electrons.
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She was a teacher at the Mansion. Even though she never had gotten to run any classes before her rather unfortunate bout of Illness that kept her recuperating in California for the winter. Now that she was back and in rather good health though she felt perfectly able and willing to open the Danger Room for Students wishing to commence in the practice of Mutation Control.
Students having singed up for her class would be informed via a note hung up on the Noticeboard (the real one as well as the internet variety) that today, at this hour her class would be taking place for the very first time in the DR at the Mansion.
Currently the old Lady was waiting along in the yet barren room. She was wearing an appropriate attire. A conservative combination with a flowered skirt that made her look rather youngish. About sixty-five if one was generous. And she was wearing a smile. The students could come.
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There was of course the question as to where certain lessons in coordinated movement might be undertaken without undue embarrassment of all parties concerned. They needed an unobserved place to practice in other words. Because Granny had no intention of making the girl repeat The Things That Had Been in a public setting. No matter the older people. Teenagers could be quite cruel.
Luckily she already had the perfect location in mind.
It was not called the Danger Room for no reason after all.
She skirt flowed through the halllways with practiced ease. She knew where she was going. And she got there quite rapidly considering everything else. The computer panel greeted her blinkingly, but she ignored it and went right in.
To land in a frozen wasteland where, as it happened to be, ice giants were lobbing great snowballs in each others faces. Sometimes it pays to look at the in use signs. In the form of giant snowballs. Sometimes it does not.
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Dear Children of the Mansion, Xs Ys and other sexes,
I would like to proudly remind *screech* *squeak*
Well you know all these pretty things. What you might not know is that the Mansion has a Mutation Control teacher in form of Granny Stephens. Yes, I have been absent a bit and seek to remedy this. Granny is going to hold a Class soon. Be prepared for Danger Room Mayhem and be welcome to announce your joining up by undersigning this post. Be aware that Granny offers limited spots in her classes. Be also aware that things may not happen as planned by the teacher. I am most open to suggestions in this regard. One or more surprises may already be pending.
See you in Class.
Granny
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