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.
Dorian didn’t want to get involved in this fight until there was one substantially weakened victor left for him to clean up. He responded to the kid with a shrug, then sat down in an invisible chair. Here, he would watch the fight unfold, safe behind his invisible wall. And thanks to the chair, he wouldn’t betray any weakness by stumbling or falling over. Damn shame that kid was stuck messing around in a small-time gang like that. That power of his packed a real punch.
While he sat, he had an idea. He pantomimed picking up a pair of earmuffs, then put them over his ears. He felt them cover his ears. Would that actually help anything? He held his hands next to his ears and snapped his fingers. It did muffle the sound a little. Maybe even enough to help him deal with that kid, if he had to.
The mime didn’t really want to see what that kid thought of Steel’s warning. He did the wall routine as fast as he could manage, pushing his hands up against an invisible wall between himself and the boy. The wall started being there just as the blast hit. Dorian’s ears were ringing, and he was a little uneasy on his feet, but at least he wasn’t doing as bad as Steel.
As he leaned against his wall, he pulled a piece of chalk out of his pocket and began to write backwards on the invisible wall, so the others could read it: ‘That was rude.’ The words seemed to float in the air in front of him. He shook his head to clear it out.
Now he needed to figure out how to deal with that kid.
Dorian set his invisible guitar aside so he could fist-bump the god damn leader of the god damn X-Men. Did this mean they were bros now? Good enough bros for Steel to not-try-to-subdue-him? At the very least, Steel would be a lot more preoccupied with the kids. The X-idiot’s arrival was turning into a surprisingly lucky break for him.
Gerald coughed. “That’s not an X-Man,” he pointed at the masked one. Dorian put a finger over the still, white lips of his mask, as if to tell him if you say one more word the last emotions you experience will be fear and regret. Gerald looked away quickly. “I don’t know why the X-Man’s here, though.” What he did know was that exactly nobody was about to comply with Steel’s request. And he wasn’t about to tell anyone that the mime worked for the M cartel; Gerald liked being alive.
And then the god damn leader of the god damn X-Men showed up, drunkenly slurring Deep Purple lyrics.
Dorian looked at Steel. He looked at Parker and his fan club. He looked at Steel again, and got an idea: instead of dealing with both of these threats at the same time, he could pretend he was on Steel’s side, and let them neutralize each other. Once that was over, he could have a pleasant conversation with his good friend Gerald about his missing product.
So, how could Dorian communicate to a drunken, smoke-on-the-water-singing X-Leader that they were on the same side? With a shrug, the mime whipped out his air guitar. The dark alleyway was filled with Dorian’s sloppy, acoustic rendition of the riff from “Smoke on the Water.” He moved out of Steel’s way, and got ready to watch magic happen.
The purple man let out a loud, raspy laugh. “Senile Barney the dinosaur!” He wheezed. “That’s a new one.”
Terry’s fellow gang members had heard the man’s bones crack, saw his limbs bend in unnatural directions throughout the course of the beating. This made them all the more surprised when he jumped to his feet like a man a quarter of his apparent age, seemingly uninjured aside from the gashes on his face. “Hittin’ me would just make ya tired, an’ I ain’t give a damn ‘bout the family.” He snorted loudly, and the gashes on his face closed up. “A for effort, though. Now, unless you kids…”
For the first time since Terry saw him, the purple man’s eyes filled with fear. He was looking up. A man in a plain white mask was floating down from the sky, one arm held up as though he was holding on to something. He landed gently on the asphalt and lowered his arms.
“Aw, no! I didn’t do nothin’ to make you mad!” Old guy pointed at him accusingly. “I already gave you your money!” The masked man didn’t even move. He just stood there, staring, motionless.
The purple man’s name was Parker, and Dorian was creeping him right the hell out. Dorian was pleased that he had made such a powerful impression on the man after his last visit. But that wasn't why he was here.
No, he was here for one of those kids. Gerald. The one slowly inching his way towards the back of the group. Wordlessly, Dorian shifted his gaze so he was staring directly at the older boy. Gerald flinched. Dorian smirked beneath his mask.
Dorian tapped his chin with his pen, then started writing:
The park is okay. It just seems like
With a sideways glance, he noticed Malice looking him over. Perhaps even ‘checking him out,’ as they say. Dorian was pretty sure this meant she was into him. He smirked, still facing his notepad, and continued writing.
a dangerous place to be alone. Fortunately, we won’t be alone this time.
He showed this message to her, giving her enough time to read it before adding a question: Is there a story behind the name, Malice?
Ah, with the codename. He should really consider getting one of those. Not for symbolic reasons, like he assumed ‘Malice’ probably did, but practical ones.
I’m Dorian. He wrote this and showed it to the empty space where Malice was standing several seconds ago. She was walking away, looking back at him. He jogged a few paces to catch up with her and held the note where she would see it.
Then: The park? By yourself? Beautiful thing like her? Either those tentacles of hers are a lot more dangerous than they looked, or she legitimately didn’t realize what kinds of truly evil scumbags roamed around in this city at night.
...Unlike Dorian himself. Who, in spite of his body count, had standards. None of them were innocent young women; they were scumbags and idiots too stupid to live.
...A very specific kind of stupid, which didn't overlap with innocence.
It might be a good idea if she held on to that gun. Especially if she wanted to keep walking around on the streets in this part of town at night.
Once it was clear that the girl wasn’t asking him some kind of rhetorical question, and she wasn’t about to shoot the human to death, Dorian had an idea. He held up a finger, as though telling her to wait. Then, he grabbed the unconscious man’s arm and slung the dead weight over his shoulders. Slowly, and a little shakily (bastard was heavy), he carried the man to the dumpster in a nearby alleyway and dropped him in.
With that done, he wrote:
These streets are as dangerous as you are beautiful. Would you mind if I accompanied you?
The masked man looked at the note, at the girl and the tendrils extending from her back.
He removed the mask and tucked it under his arm. Now, Malice could see that he was smirking, barely holding back laughter. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a similar pocket-sized notepad and a black pen, though his notepad was plain and blue and didn't have any stickers on it. He wrote:
‘I hit him with an invisible crowbar. I’m a mutant, like you. Did your X-Gene steal your voice like mine did?’
He tore the page out of the notepad and handed it to her.
Jeremy kept tugging at the purse, but the girl kept holding on. Didn’t scream, didn’t say anything, just sorta held onto her purse and gave him the stink eye. Honestly, the chick was starting to creep him out.
A masked man walked out of the alleyway behind him. The mask was plain, white. It had holes for the wearer’s eyes, a nose, and a closed mouth. To say it looked like a person’s face would be an overstatement. The masked man saw the struggle, stopped, and tilted his head to the side.
Time for Plan B. Keeping one hand on the purse, he reached into his coat and pulled out a 9mm.
The man in the mask knelt down, going through the motions of picking something up. As he approached the two, he acted like he was brandishing some sort of weapon in his hands, but it was clear to see that he wasn’t holding anything.
“I wasn’t kidding. Give me. The purse.”
The masked man swung his invisible weapon at the man’s head. With a loud, metallic PING, Jeremy fell, unconscious. Masked man nudged the would-be thief with his foot a few times, just to be sure.
With the threat eliminated, he bowed to the girl. This was a dramatic motion which included removing an invisible hat from his head.
They went through the back entrance. Two dead men still lay on the ground, bullet wounds in their chests and heads. Dorian tried to ignore them, instead heading straight towards the clothes.
That red leisure suit looked like naked-guy’s size, if not a little bigger. It came with a matching pair of pants and a dress shirt. Not the kind of thing you’d wear to blend in, but it sure as hell beat being naked and literally on fire. He snatched these things off the rack and shoved them in the naked guy’s face. Implied: ‘Stop being naked.'
What did any of that have to do with… what? Did this have anything to do with that time-jumping guy? Or was this guy just completely insane? Dorian was still leaning toward his ‘completely insane’ theory.
His hands fished through his pockets, finding a pen and a notepad. He wrote three words down on a page, then tore it out and handed it to the naked man. ’Can’t talk. Incapable.’ Just so there wouldn’t be any more bad blood between them, after all of those entirely fictional experiences they shared all those years ago.
Speaking of insanity, didn’t the Sanctuary offer free mental health services? Maybe Dorian ought to drag this guy back there with him. After getting him some clothes, first. The completely legitimate and respectable dry-cleaners would probably be able to help him out there, especially now that its owners were dead. They wouldn’t care. The mute gestured for the naked guy to follow him back over there.
...Wow. That was just asking for a blood-borne illness. However, rather than question the reasoning of the nude, super-powered madman, Dorian decided to keep him happy and do as he was told. At least the guy didn’t want him to talk, he couldn’t tell whether that ‘wimp’ comment was serious, or some kind of attempt at a joke.
He took hold of a strip of cloth and lifted the man’s left arm: a nonverbal instruction to hold it there for a moment while he wrapped the cloth several times tightly around his shoulder. All the while, he couldn’t help but notice that this guy was incredibly hot – literally, he had a high body temperature; let’s not get carried away – and the mime began to wonder if this guy was running a fever. Then again, he was also on fire not so long ago. Being on fire tended to increase one’s body temperature, as several unfortunate young men had just learned.
Once Dorian finished off the makeshift bandage with a tight knot (hopefully, that would stop the bleeding) he decided to try getting the message across that he couldn’t actually talk.
First, he held up a finger to get the man’s attention, making it clear that he was trying to communicate something. Then, he used slow, pronounced sign language to say ’I. Can’t. Talk.’ The guy would have to be an idiot not to figure out the first two words, but the sign language for “talk” involved holding up four fingers and tapping his chin. Not as obvious to non-signers.
…Apparently, the probably-insane naked man thought that they were old friends, and that they had gone on all kinds of adventures together. While Dorian was happy that the crazy naked guy saved his life, he didn’t like the idea that this guy was going to stick around, and that he had the power to kill him, and that he might decide to kill him as soon as he realizes they aren’t old friends.
Unless this guy was from the future-dream. He didn't think this guy was from the future dream. He would remember a guy with power like that.
Dorian answered that comment with a smirk, and several moments of eye contact.
Then, he knelt down next to the man lying on the ground with the bullet wound in his back, careful to avoid the small pool of blood next to him, so it wouldn’t stain his pants. With barely-audible elastic snaps, he mimed putting on a pair of latex gloves (it never hurt to be too careful) and checked the guy’s pulse with two fingers.
Already dead. The lucky bastard must have had his heart on the right side of his body, where the bullet wound in his back was. Lucky, because Dorian could have interrogated him otherwise. But the mute noticed a bulge in the man’s pants pocket. He plucked a wallet out of it, removed the driver’s license inside, then returned the wallet to the dead man’s pocket.
He held the license up for bird-man to see, whom he had been trying desperately to ignore for the short time it took him to get it. Maybe, the gesture would make it seem like they were still old buddies, or at least collaborators. There wasn’t much time for bird-man to look at it before Dorian stood and pocketed the thing, but he could probably figure out that it was a driver's license.
The remaining gunman was acting like he’s never seen a bird turn into a flaming, naked black guy and punch one of his friends in the face before. Dorian couldn’t say that he had, either, but he wasn’t exactly phased. Sometimes, a bird engulfed in flame turns into a naked black man and punches people in the face; this was just a fact of the world, and Dorian could deal with that better than most.
Apparently, the naked dude was under the impression that he and Dorian were bros. Dorian didn’t have a problem with that. In fact, Dorian had never been happier in his life to run into a naked guy he didn’t know. The typical naked person Dorian met on the street at night was far less pleasant.
Fiery naked guy could care less about getting shot. The shot didn’t hit anything important, at least. The man with the gun probably could have nailed him in the face, if he didn’t insist on holding the gun sideways like an idiot so he couldn’t aim.
Did Dorian want the last kill? He rubbed his chin, mulled it over, and ultimately shrugged. As long as the guy got seriously wounded, it was all good. But he appreciated the gesture! This guy was seriously considerate; the other possibly-insane naked men wandering the streets that night would do well to learn from his example.
Said last kill decided to open fire on the mime. The bullets bounced harmlessly off of the invisible wall between them. He gave the hapless thug a disappointed look: really, guy? You still think that’s gonna work?
