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.
It was really light that answer by Granny. Light and alltogether serious. (Also: Young people were not much fun, no. They tended to be far too perceptive. At least some of them.) Gina might have noted that Grannys eyes still had a bit of youthful sparkle.
"Yes."
Simple as that. With that she rose, her hands taking the edges of the table to help her push herself into an upright position. She grumbled a bit about old joints doing that. Silently grumbled. Then she was walking along, going out of the kitchen. "Come child, Ill show you!" Her voice was jovial and her steps were rather quick. The last bits of her flowered Granny-skits swished around the edges of the door and were gone. Her voice travelled though.
"Dont worry about washing up. I have some of the boys do it later." Yes, she would. Detention some called it. She called it raising proper children. The boys needed to clean the dishes. They needed to clean a lot. Because boys needed - much more than girls usually - to learn these things. Also: They build character. And this was something most mutants needed rather badly.
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At Ginas mention of creating a scene, Granny crocked her head lightly. As if to say: Now, now, young girl, there never was one who wanted to make a scene was there? The slightly knowing smile of her lips might have added much more than words to the impression of knowing things she was not supposed to. Or at least of having strong suspicions. "I am sure you would never do that." She murmured. Murmured! And just left it at that. Then she added, quite conveniently forgetting her former tone (and placement of cranium): "The trouble is often people don't quite know what to see." A small smile, a different one, crept over her face slowly and deliberately.
She raised her hand and the milk got on with pouring itself. into a glass. A nice and hearty swig of it. It settled before Gina without spilling. Just like that. Further proof of her age-long practive maybe. Maybe just an old lady doing things like she always did when she felt no need to get up and moving. The truth lay more in the second direction for her actually. She had lived with her powers for so long that their use had become instinctual. A habit that she was quite unwilling to break. Or even percieve as overly problematic.
She tried to reposition her old and crankery bones in a more comfortable position. Who had thought of chaird without proper padding? No consideration these young ones. Add a mental huff.
"And one thing before we get going: What do you thing I dance?"
Her face was quite innocent here. Even her eyes showed nothing unusual. Only her voice might betray the slightest hint of the trap she had laid out for the young girl. She would show her. Seeing was not everything.
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Someone coughed. Behind her. The fact of the matter registered a few seconds behind the actual act. She was much too engrossed in heaving the irate mammal around the room. Talking was a bit out of the question while doing that. So...
The Elephant dropped on the ground. Heavily. It was, in fact, a bit noisy. Oops.
Granny turned around, a smile on her old face. Her eyes were twinkling with fomething like.... fun? "Yes, dear?" She posed the question quite invitingly. As if the elephant behind her was not just shaking off his fall-induced confusion and was in an obviously murderous mood. Such trivialities were, it seemed, beneath her notice.
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Reassuringly perhaps Grannys eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly delighted and delightfully young at the wide-eyed youth before her. "I was in the Army. We know how to handle the Bad People. They usually do not come back for more." Flop, flop. Omlette on plate. And plate to Gina. This was quick and dirty Granny stuff. Feed the children. They might like it. And you. Bad People on the other hand: Be prepared for nastiness. Nobody touched her children. Ever. Or they would meet the flying Dutchman. Dutchman being the name of the Elephant. Or car. Or tree. And flying, well, because it kindof flies in your face. That tends to hurt.
A bit.
"A teacher wants to know whether you might fly away in class. Or turn her into a bird" - not that that had happened recently (thank you, once was enough, back then.) - "Your Granny wants to know whether you would like a glass of milk with that." And with that she flopped herself down at the table.
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Granny was a teacher. A teacher that had, conundrum there, not been able to teach anyone anything yet. This was curtsy of a nasty bout of Pneumonia, which had sent her surfing on a Californian beach after a somewhat lengthy ICU stay. Still. She was a teacher, who had not taucht yet. And she did not even know her classroom. From the briefing she had recieved upon signing her contract, she knew where it was suppposed to be, that 'Danger Room'. Now, after her triumphant return, she proceeded to inspect her Realm for the first time.
It was rumored to be Holographic. Holographic!
Of all things she - an old lady by all accounts - was supposed to be teaching in a high-tech environment. Talk about human-resource mismatch. She was rather amused by the notion that a computer and robots would be her tools of instruction. In her time robots had been thought of as Things That Go Bump In The Night. And even in recent History Registration and giant Sentinels - giant robots stalking the streets of the populated Centers looking for unregistered Mutants to round up - had not increased her trust in metallic companionship by even the smallest increments.
She had gone through a much harder school than even the Registration though - one that she did not wish to inflict on anyone else. Especially on the children. (Really Children: Stay away from a Military fighting a losing war in a jungle far off country. The Big Gamers tend to go all acidic and scared if - for example a nurse starts floating things with her mind. And they will start to forcefully recruit you into programs so secret they are still under wraps over thirty years after the fact. And in all possibility they will stay that way until the earth stops revolvoing. You see, those people then were slightly... inhumane... with their near-human resources.) So on giving it a moment thought she decided that she could - and would - work with robots. She had Children to teach after all. And the possiblitites of her getting hurt were - considering her skills - absulutely abysmal.
Yes, considering she could throw things that weighed a few tonnes, she felt absolutely justified in being cocky. Also: She had shields only very few things could overwhelm (she was not vain enough to think that they were unbreakable, thank you). But she did not find it in her mind that Students would be stomping into her class with a half-dozen machine guns aimed in her general direction. And even if they did - she smiled somethign that could be called a mildly evil smile - they would live through the surprise of their lives. Or not... Oh well. No use going there. They were her students and not something Vicious. She was, after all, going to that Danger Room, her cane surely in her hand, its thumping echoing through the halls of the Mansion, and not back to the Jungle.
When she arrived at the metal doors she had left the corridors of her usual occupation well behind. A keypad greeted her, off to one side, Computer obviously waiting for instructions as well as the code she had been given to access the more dangerous things here. Another old smile. Her arthritic fingers found the keys to be inconveniently small. And she had to squint to make out the numbers on them. No good, those young people inventing things. Always made things good for their age bracket. She finally had resort to punching in letters and numbers with her mind - leaving a slightly frustrated feeling in her belly. She would need to talk to that Doctor again. He had wanted her to take yet another pill. And - seething - she probably would.
Finally the door opened. To her it seemed mockingly slow in its progress. No-good computers indeed. When she stepped into the cavernous training facility she began smiling a happy smile though. So much space for her and her charges. And so... what to do with it?
She considered for a moment, settling on some trials with the electronic brain controlling the room. "Computer..." Her voice rasped in fair imitation of Captain Kirk... "... I need an Elephant, male." And indeed, the Computer deigned to oblige her. With a shimmering of the air in the middle of the room, the animal made its appearance. Stage set. Now: Training. Was thing heavier than a usual SUV? The thing trumpeted in her direction, obviously displeased. And obviously loudly. Had she closed that door? Probably not. So if she woke half the Mansion... The Bull began moving, interrupting that train of thought. It was - she noted for herself - quite obviously a well-programmed boy. Before it could take more than a few enraged steps into her direction it...
began to hover up to the ceiling, wrapped in a green glow. She stared intently at it, forgetting the world. And yes, she began to juggle a bull Elephant under the Ceiling of the Danger room. She even turned it overhead and made it fly in circles.
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Granny began stirring the contents of the bowl with a wooden spoon. It was a minute of comfortable silence before she talked again. Warm silence, if there was such a thing. "You..." Granny pronounced - yes she made the words sound like a gesture in and of themselves - magnanimously. "... have horns." As if that said anything. And as far as she was concerned, this said a few things indeed. Horns. Like the devil. Or like a somewhat-shy teenager full of Angst that was facing a world that was in turn more afraid of her. She could indeed think of easier natures to strullge with. Like, for example, Arthritis. Her hand was hurting again. She let go of the spoon. It started stirring the egg misture on its own. Thankfulkly her mind was still agile.
The egg misture settled itself to sizze lin the pan and Granny turned away to have a look at the used instruments settling themselves in the dishwasher. Someone had emptied it for once. This was nice. Her perpetual ranting was apparently beginning to wear down the standard teenage resistance to order and cleanliness in some occupants of her home.
"And I have had a long time to practice with my Telekinesis. Wait 'till you see me do heavy-duty stuff." As in: Throwing things not designed to be thrown. Maybe she should try an elephant once. "I need to set up a proper class soon." She grumbled absentmindedly. The eggs began smelling deliciously about then. A real püiece of cheese and a knife apopeared and the cheese - real cheese - began lobbing inside the omlette, which flapped in on itself without a spatula. The cheese went back in the fridge. Granny went back to talking. Doing both and working with so many things - even light ones - was distracting. "Anything I should know about you, Girl?" The Girl was not the term of distancing it could be. It was one of those grandmotherly addresses she felt entitled to. She was well past seventy after all. That had to count for something in her mind. As previously stated: That was very well still.
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Making an Omlette is somewhat easy. Especially if you are just thinking about it. And things go all glowy-green on you and start doing what you want - what you think them to do. Like the oven that flicked on. Like the pan that settled down there in the flickering heat. A spoon and a metal bowl appearing from another cupboard. The old woman had not moved an inch from her standing position. She just looked away somewhat. unconcentrated. Not-quite home. But she still managed to smile at the young woman before her. Wings, horns and all. Smile. Everything was normal, safe.
"Good girl." In the background teh fridge opened and closed with a click. A few eggs came by Ginas head on their way to self-destruction. "Young ones like you need to watch what they are eating. Less Cola, more Cucumber and such." A friendly wink in the direction of the young girl might have told her that the old lady knew that such things were almost universally disregarded by the younger cohorts. Until they came of proper age and switched their habits. At least some did.
Granny moved forwards to the table and leaned her cane against it. Then she proceeded to hobble over to the stove where a rack full of spices hung. Hobbled. The fact that she might be able to dance was not evident from her way of locomotion. Nor from her fingers that sported a nice and complete set of arthritic joints and ancient blue veins under paper-thin skin. She squinted at the spices, mumbling something about white pepper - and something uncomplimentary about people bringing things into disarray. Then she snatched a few things and threw a pinch of this and a handful of that in the metal bowl. "As for introductions: You may call me Granny. I teach Mutation Control. And apparently dancing. To you." Better clearing that up at the start. She was - after all - a teacher at this Mansion.
From somewhere behind Gina, a bottle of milk decided to join other things gathering on the counter besides Granny. It might be slightly obvious why she was a teacher here. Yes? The eggs cracked themselves into the bowl under the gaze of the telekinetic. She was good in her old age. With her mutation that was.
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