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.
Working with organized crime wasn't so different from working with the rebel groups Dorian used to run with. Or, would have run with? The English language simply wasn't built with future-dreams in mind, and writing about those always gave him a headache. But that wasn't important. What was important was that the Order's heirarchy was flexible enough that, even as a relatively new person, he could round up a few warm bodies and get something done, if it needed doing and nobody else was taking initiative.
What needed doing? Solving a problem with a serial arsonist with a penchant for killing people the Order would rather keep alive. Yes, Order territory was a big, chaotic mess full of murder and crime, but it was, for the most part, an organized chaos that the Order sponsored and profited from. Whoever this arsonist idiot was, he'd killed enough of the Order's clients and dealers and burned enough of their merchandise that he needed to be taken care of.
Dorian had mapped out the times and locations of each place where the arsonist had struck, and he began to notice a few patterns. Or, at least, what he'd hoped were patterns, which gave him a general idea of where he suspected the idiot might strike again. Even if he was right, this wasn't enough to catch the idiot; he'd need a small team to help him catch the guy.
Once they'd caught him, it should be easy to just kill him, but that would be wasting an opportunity. The NYPD was soiling their pants trying to get this guy, but aside from the outrageous amounts of gasoline he threw around, the guy didn't leave a trace. This guy was a world-class arsonist if Dorian had ever heard of one, or if that was even a thing. He drafted a letter for the man, which outlined a business proposal. The arsonist would recieve this proposal right after the Orderlings were done beating him viciously.
One night, the mime dragged "baby face" Sledge and "please don't eat me" Aurion all over the target area, each of them carrying fire extinguishers and copies of Dorian's letter. They found absolutely nothing. With the night wasted, they stopped off at Blunderbore's bar so Dorian could buy them a few rounds of drinks before they headed home, so it wasn't a total loss.
Somehow, the mime managed to convince them to do it all again the next night. Which was really stupid of him, but he didn't realize it until he was sitting at the dark, litter-covered street corner where they'd decided to meet at the end of their patrolling. Another night had been completely wasted.
Shaking his head in frustration, he pulled out his marker, mimed a small dry-erase board into existence, and wrote a message for the next guy who showed up:
I'm thinking of taking this whole "drug plot" thing and doing some stuff with it. Without doing anything too power-grabby, and if nobody objects too strongly OOCly, I'm going to have Dorian run a few Order-related missions.
Again, this is nothing particularly power-grabby. It will just be things that are already in the Order's description. We would be dealing with stuff that might threaten the M trade, or hurt the Order's business involving such, or threaten the control that the Order has over their territory. Rival gangs that need stomping, rogue M traders or M-abusers, and those pesky policemen / mutant vigilantes are all prime targets for these kinds of missions. Additionally, just because I'm having Dorian round up some warm Order bodies to get stuff done doesn't mean that he has the sole authority to do so (this shouldn't need saying, I'm not power grabbing, please don't hurt me).
Anyway, if you're an Orderling and you would be interested in getting contacted about some kind of mission, post here. If you're a person who isn't me and you'd like to lead such an Order mission instead of me, feel free to post here AND contact other people who want in on it.
If you want to be an NYPD guy or an X-Man unfortunate enough to be up against the Order, you should post here too! We'll be more than happy to kick your butt plan a thread with you
It took Dorian a second to realize that this asian guy was trying to help him stand. On top of a flying Porygon-thing, which was very high in the air, and might have to do some very quick maneuvering at any moment to avoid colliding with a giant vine whip. If it had to do that kind of quick maneuvering while he was standing, he would probably fall off the Porygon and die painfully. If only he had his voice, Dorian could have reacted to this in a far more polite and coherent way than remaining dead weight and trying his best to wrench the man's hand from his arm, all while shaking his head violently. No, he would not be standing up on this thing. He would be keeping his center of gravity low, because he would very much like to not die painfully today.
Hat? Hat. Yes, he saw the hat, he nodded. Dorian tried to stop being selfish and thinking about whether or not he would die painfully from falling of a Porygon, and instead think about stopping the cops from killing this kid. Which is probably what they'd do. You don't stop giant rampaging mosters from destroying cities by giving them hugs and pats on the back and telling them to calm down.
Maybe if more people knew what that thing actually was, they wouldn't try to gun it down with heavy artillery. The only person he could tell at the moment was this Japanese man. Sitting cross-legged on the Porygon, Dorian pulled out his notepad, scribbled on it, then showed it to the man who just saved his life.
'Bulbasaur is really a mutant kid. Can we stop those cops from killing him?'
Dorian knew that the standard Japanese method for dealing with giant monsters involved using giant robots to take them out. Since most of those giant monsters were actually mutant people, the Japanese government was getting trouble from human rights watchdogs, according to a steady stream of international news reports. Hopefully this guy would deviate from the standard Japanese method today.
'Not really, no. But it's not surprising that they were. That you were. There. In Romania, that is. I thought I might've gotten a chance to see you guys there, but that wasn't really why I went.' Dorian sighed. 'I was there because I had this big, bright idea about how I'd help out the resistance there. All I managed to do was lose my passport and get tortured. Good times, right?'
As for his old job, 'I started off as a kind of soldier-y assassin-y type guy. Later, once someone noticed my writing, I mostly wrote articles for the Order's propaganda machine. During World War 3, I did a little of both. Fought on the front lines, then wrote flowery stories about it when I had a moment.' Even in his thoughts, he sounded exceptionally bitter when he started talking about the war.
Dorian couldn't help feeling a little giddy, or being a little too talkative for his own good. He'd just been reunited with the Order, after all. Even if they technically never knew that he was gone, or even who he was, they were together again! Besides, he'd been itching to talk to somebody, actually talk, for years now, and this was probably as close as he would ever get.
He could write a whole book about why he missed the old Order. Oh wait he already was. Like I said, I have a lot of memories. Or... like I thought? Meh. But I have a lot of good memories. I felt like I was doing something great for mutantkind, when I worked with them. We were making a nation by mutants, for mutants. It had a lot of potential... The performer wasn't even looking at Lori anymore; his mind had fled to his past.
It took him a second to come back to reality. Until, I guess, the guys in charge somehow managed to make everyone hate mutants more by screwing up foreign policy. Being a non-state actor like this might actually be better, far as helping our kind goes, now that I think of it. And if you're good enough to go around replacing people with power.
And the last person I killed was a Romanian prison guard. I was up there when they copied our country's bright idea to register everyone. Kind of a stupid thing for me to do, really.
To be honest, Dorian didn't expect it to end this way. After so many close calls with robots and the National Guard during the Resistance movement, and with so many chances to have died like some medal-of-honor type of guy back then or in Romania or in his future, it almost seemed laughable that what finally did him in would be a mutant kid turned giant Pokemon. Dorian didn't think it was very funny at the time, though.
Neither did the guy with the Porygon. The mime assumed that grabbing onto this guy's arms would mean salvation, so he did, and gladly. Whatever this mysterious stranger had in store, it couldn't be worse than getting beaten to death by a giant Bulbasaur. He nodded his thanks, lacking any other means of communication.
Apparently, some kind of serious police units were inbound, judging from those sirens and choppers in the distance. Even if the Bulbasaur kid was trying to kill him just now, and generally wrecking everything in its path, Dorian couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him. Those law-enforcement types could be pretty tough on mutants. Poor kid. If only he'd succeeded at giving the guy a good concussion earlier; then they wouldn't still have to be dealing with this mess.
Lori didn't seem to think his joke about the media was very funny. Dorian thought it would at least be grin-worthy, especially to somebody who plays a big role in the mutant community. You can't make everyone laugh. The mime began to sweat a little, but he stood his ground.
I'd be lying if I told you I didn't miss the old Order. I have a lot of good memories from working with them, even if they are memories of things that will never happen. I did something real with them, something that mattered. But loud and proud isn't the only way to get things done, and it probably makes a lot more enemies that what you're doing. I'm all for a world where the media doesn't ram on the whole of mutantkind like we're some kind of disease. If you can get stuff done without shouting at everyone about it, I won't stop you.
He leaned back. Let's go back to that thing you said about useful people, though. Given the choice, I'd much rather be an Order grunt than a street performer who also writes books that publishers hate. By the way, I killed one of the senators who drafted the Registration Act. That Weinhard guy? Might've heard about that on the news a few years back. I was the guy who did that.
...I mean, yeah, they replaced him with somebody who's probably even worse about mutants, so I guess that was kinda stupid, and in retrospect it didn't help much... but I still killed the son of a bitch, and the FBI never found me. That's gotta mean something. The phrase 'son of a bitch' was punctuated by Dorian knocking on Lori's table with his fist.
Dorian hesitated. Nice. Metal chairs, electro-magnetic Order leader, suspicious guy who knows too much... what could possibly go wrong? I don't even know; I'm just gonna sit here and act like you're not thinking about killing me.
He parked his rear end on it anyway, forced a smile, and almost screamed at himself to shut up. Pardon me. I've pulled the trigger on guys like me before,nd I'm sitting in what might soon be an electric chair.
He leaned in. Anyway... Columbia? Why haven't I been reading about that in the papers? If the Order I used to know took over something like that, I feel like I should've heard about it in the news by now. There should be headlines out there that go something like "Columbia Taken Over By Big, Scary, Mean, Evil, Mutant, Terrorist Gangsters Who Hate Puppies."
Not that our news media is biased or anything, Dorian added hastily. He would have thrown in a nervous laugh, too, if he could still laugh.
Lori Faust owned a Bone Bikini Babe poster? ...Dorian wasn't sure how to feel about that. Though how he felt or didn't feel about that didn't really have anything at all to do with the Order. He made a conscious effort not to think about it in front of the telepathic Order leader. Instead, he would think about those questions she was guessing he would have.
He nodded, and reached out to take her hand as he tried to send some thoughts her way. Yeah, I do, actually. For starte – Ow! Right as he was about to touch her hand, he got zapped. The spark that flew between their hands made a loud pop and made his arm feel slightly stiff for the next minute or so. He quickly pulled that hand back away from Lori. ...Touching you isn't really a good idea, is it?
Now for an actual question. So, it doesn't really look like you're in the middle of taking over Australia right now. If the Order isn't doing that right now, what are they doing? Dorian's only reference point for how the Order functioned was how they worked during Australia's future-revolution, and Lori's Order didn't seem to be doing anything like that. Or, at least, not as openly as the future's Order.
The leader of the Order. You're the leader of the Order? It existed already, and she was its leader?
Nobody thought much of a mute choosing to eat instead of participating in their conversation. Which was good, for once, because he needed some time to absorb what he'd just... heard? Heard. It was as good a word as any to describe the experience, Dorian decided.
He also decided to accept the Order leader's invitation. Minutes after his stomach was satisfied and full of lasagnalike substance, he was knocking on the door to Lori's office. And since he was dealing with someone whom he assumed was a telepath, he decided that he should try to cool it on a certain kind of daydream most men at the Sanctuary were also probably having. While he was at it, he decided to avoid thinking about pink elephants, too. Because, frankly, pink elephants didn't have very much to do with anything.
As it turns out, hitting a giant Pokemon repeatedly with an invisible golf club is a monumentally bad idea. To be honest, it was not very effective. Vine whip, however, was super effective at removing a pesky Mr. Mime from the back of that giant Bulbasaur's neck. One of the vines finally connected with Dorian's side. While he was able to "block" it, to a certain extent, that didn't keep him from stumbling off the giant Pokemon, landing on top of a Mercedes that was parallel-parked against the curb.
The roof of the car caved in a little when he landed on it. Thinking quickly, Dorian pressed his palms against an imaginary concrete barrier directly above him, which became a physical object just in time to stop a giant vine from smashing him to pieces.
He looked up. The Bulbasaur was looking right at him. It didn't look happy. Hitting it with a golf club was definitely a bad idea, he decided. Mr. Mime slid off the car and ran for dear life.
Up ahead, he could see a man flying around on a... was that a Porygon? He hoped that the other Pokemon wouldn't try to kill him, too. One giant Pokemon trying to kill him was more than enough.
This would be tricky to explain. He thoughtfully tapped his chin with his pencil. And he took a drink. Then, he started writing on the notepad where Joe could see it. He took a break here and there to drink.
Back in 2008, a lot of people all over the world had the same dream. In the dream, it was 2018, everyone was ten years older, and Russia went to war with China, and it turned into WWIII. I had that dream, and you were in it. You fought with USA/Russia, I with Australia/China. But that stopped mattering when the nuking started.
There were a lot of things that stopped mattering when the nuking started. You know what else just stopped mattering? Dorian's blood/alcohol level. It wasn't like he owned a car. Or really had anywhere to be tomorrow. What did matter was that his highball glass was already empty, and he was only feeling a little buzzed. This simply wouldn't do. He ripped that note off for Sparkles' continued reading pleasure, while he wrote a top-priority missive for the barkeep.
When Dorian woke up that morning, he had no idea that he would spend any part of that day riding a giant Bulbasaur through the middle of Manhattan, whacking it in the back of the head with an invisible golf club. If he had known this, he might have planned ahead, and perhaps been a little bit less liberal with his street performance face-paint. The stuff didn't exactly agree with sweat, and trying to wrangle a giant pokemon into submission wasn't exactly light work. Even as he thwacked it with his club, he constantly had to dodge giant green vine whips that were about as wide around as his neck.
It started while he was doing that routine with the balloons. The one where he tied an invisible balloon to his leg to make it look like something was trying to pull him off the ground, and he had to grab hold of an invisible rope attached to the ground in order to stop himself from floating away. It was a pretty clever routine, if he said so himself. Even so, he was going to be completely upstaged by the giant Bulbasaur, which almost seemed to replace the kid who was throwing a fit at his mother down the street. Meaning that kid was probably a giant Bulbasaur now, making him both the coolest kid ever, and a real danger to himself and others.
The coolest kid on the block was also the only kid on the block who could sprout giant vine-whip things from his back and flail them around uncontrollably. Cars were destroyed, people were injured, and mochas were shaken up wherever the pokemon went. Dorian needed to stop it. Not because he had this overwhelming desire to save anyone, mind you, but because he somehow managed to get vine-whipped onto the back of the Bulbasaur's neck, and he would really like to get down now, please. When that big green vine hit him, he reflexively latched on to it. Soon, he found himself hanging on to the flailing tendril for dear life, until he lost his grip somewhere near the back of the thing's head.
Why was Dorian wailing on it with an invisible driver, you ask? He wasn't completely sure either. There wasn't exactly a well-established procedure for placating a giant Bulbasaur-shifting mutant. Or, at least, not as far as he knew; the MRC might've written a whole manual on it, for all he knew. Though, maybe if he hit it enough on the back of the head, it would stop breaking everything and turn back into a human. Perhaps he could manage to knock it out? Or maybe he was just kinda mad that this giant freakin' pokemon just took him away from his hatful of hard-earned cash. Those forty dollars or so probably wouldn't still be there when he got back, and it took time to collect that much.
The shock surprised Dorian a bit, but he just smiled back and shrugged. Mutation accidents happen. Lori probably knew that better than anyone else, funding the Sanctuary and all that. He enjoyed watching Lori with his invisible board. She was fascinated, and by something that he could do, no less. There was something to be said about doing something that fascinated a beautiful woman like her.
His mind was going places. Though, in his defense, any other guy's mind would be moving in those same directions, around someone like her. Even so, when he heard her voice without seeing her lips move, he started to feel a little bit worried.
He shook his head, suddenly averting his eyes from Lori's. Uh, no thanks. I can make another one pretty easily. Also... are you reading my mind right now? Because I thought you could just do electro-magnetic stuff. When the mute thought, he still imagined his old voice, from back when he was in tenth grade. It was unusually deep, for a sixteen-year-old's. Not as much so for an adult's.
Dorian looked back up at Lori, half-expecting an answer, half-hoping that this whole thing really just wasn't happening.
He shook Travis's hand, then signed his own name. 'I am D-o-r-i-a-n.' And he was still reluctant to accept this favor from him. 'Are you really sure about driving me over?'
Dorian thought it over for a moment. It couldn't hurt anything if he let Travis drive him over. If anything, it would help. The thought of traveling all the way to the Sanctuary in that cold with his ankle being how it was didn't seem very fun, and paying money to take the subway or, god forbid, a taxi, sat even worse with him. Besides, if he spent a bit more time with this guy, he might get to know him a bit better, which could come in handy. It never hurt to have connections with nice guys like Travis.
'I guess I would be ready to go whenever you are. But you would not have to carry me.' To demonstrate this fact, Dorian grabbed hold of an invisible pair of crutches, which, he decided, could be leaning against his chair. While they weren't visible, Dorian could feel them, and he could use them to support his own weight and get out of the chair. Once he was up, he moved around a little bit, showing Travis that his services as a person-carrier would not be needed from this point on.
