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.
Mutations section tweaked, especially in the others-shifting weaknesses; primary change is from this:
To turn you into an animal, he needs physical contact; if the shift is done unwillingly, it only lasts 30 – 60 minutes (if voluntary, 3 – 5 hours)
To this:
To turn you into an animal, he needs physical contact; shifts done to others last 30 min - 3 days based on how willing the shifted individual is, with 1 - 3 hours being typical.
That should give people more freedom to play around in their animal forms outside of Calley-only threads, if they so desire, and change back at a good IC time.
Remember to get all mutation changes approved by the Mods.
Her smirk was not comforting to his toady, would-mark-the-wall self.
Her plan, though, passed his amphibious approval. Especially that 'wait and see if the spell wears off' part: he heartily endorsed that with a straight toady back and squared toady feet. In fact, the less researching for other possibilities she did, the more reassured the toad would be.
Also: a fly had settled on her stack of books. He could see it, out of the corner of one bulging eye. It was really distracting. The way it was… sitting there.
>> "So I guess you'll be living with me till then. Unless you want others to find out about, um, your condition. So."
Yeah. Yeah, it was just as well if certain Mansion goers didn't find out about his condition. Kat would be helpful: trying to hop-lead Susan down the hall to her room could draw the wrong sort of attention, though. The kind that start with a 'C.' The kind that his mind shut down at the thought of answering, just now. His thoughts leapt elsewhere: to the fly. Yes. The fly was safe to think about. The fly didn't l—didn't say things he didn't want to know about. It just sat there, cleaning itself with its front legs.
This toad thing. It might not be so bad for awhile.
>> "Are you hungry?"
Calley's tongue flicked out, almost faster than the human eye could follow. One of the books was knocked off the stack: a rapidly vibrating wing stuck out of Calley's mouth. Another lick finished tucking it neatly inside.
It was purple-red, and a little bulging. It had a white splint taped across it. It greeted Katrina at the door from its perch on Calley's face.
He didn't want to talk about it.
"Want me to take your bag?" Calley offered, his voice a little nasal.
Behind her desk, Lisa looked up to offer a brief welcoming nod to the fourteen year old, then went back to her work. Today, she seemed to be re-filing filled files. Calley couldn't help but think she'd smiled at him more these past few days than she had in years. He tried not to be suspicious, but sometimes, the nose knows.
Down the Sanctuary's villainous hidden stairs and inside the door next to Isabel's room, a lobster greeted them both from his hastily set up tank on the floor. His rubber banded claws were raised in love, Calley was sure.
He didn't want to talk about that, either.
Next to the tank was a borrowed sleeping bag; there were fresh sheets on the actual bed, where Kat would be sleeping. Ms. Dumonde's stern look had been very clear on the subject of sharing. He wasn't quite sure why, which had lead to a sterner look. Seriously, though: she was Kat. And he would have only been in cat for—sternest look had made him swallow any and all protests.
"So," he snuffled, "I think we need to raid the cafeteria, terrify the populace with Cerberotaur, and plot. Maybe watch a movie. Any preference on the order?"
Calley blinked, sitting up straight again. Across the room at the reception desk, a couple was staring his way. Or… not his way. They were just casting paranoid looks around, like they expected to see something. What, where they expecting their parents to pop out of booth number three? They seemed kind of old for that fear. Maybe their boss, then. Though actually, only the guy was fairly old. The girl wasn't.
Eww.
Calley turned back to his biscuits. So good, so few, but for as long as he laid claim to this table: so many free refills. He politely did-not-stare as the waitress helped them select a lobster from the tank. He knew that's why the tank was there: he'd just never seen it done. He resisted the lure of looking towards the wet splashy noises, and looked out the window as the waitress escorted them to a booth near his.
"You do have to pay for that, you know," the waitress said dubiously. "We can't just… plop it back in when you're done."
The New York scene had been quiet lately. All three Factions had been gone for months, and had come back tired--since January, there seemed to be an unofficial ceasefire as everyone got their naps in. Calley had sat that particular bit of community service out. If he was going to run a mutant rights blood drive, he'd do it in his own backyard. That was a pretty big 'if.' Unfortunately, his sense of local charity meant that he'd missed out on quality bonding time with his charming new baddie team. More importantly, with his charming new baddie leader. Calley placed great importance on leaders.
He'd rather not.
At three o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, Red Lobster was full of sedate music, relaxed staff, and empty tables. The traditional lobster tank next to the hostess' stand bubbled away as its inmates crawled slowly over one another in their chilled rectangle. The lunch rush was long past, and happy hour didn't start until five. The lone waitress working the shift was alternating between chatting with the kitchen staff and patrolling her little section of the restaurant: the booths by the front windows. Calley was deposited in one of them, and given a menu and cheddar biscuits.
Leaders really hadn't done him much good in life. They really hadn't.
There was the Kabal's former Leader, of course. 'Nough said. Then there was Tricity, who he'd seen more as a straight up spy than he had as a spy in X-Trainee guise. Neena, who was maybe more of a stern aunt figure, and who was still busy out west. Cold Steel, who was more of a frat boy figure in his mind than a leader, and who was prone to making benevolent decisions Calley himself wouldn't have made. Like inviting him back in the Mansion. He'd take advantage of those decisions, sure, but he didn't support them. And now he had Lori. A rather unknown element, all things considered. She seemed intriguing, judging by their single lone meeting which had utterly lacked individual conversation. Yeah. Ditching now might be the best idea; it wasn't like some of the older Order members wanted him there, and it wasn't like the newer ones would miss him. The Sanctuary was a lot like the Mansion: people wandered off all the time. It was probably a mutant thing.
What was he supposed to do then, though? Finish high school, like Katrina kept telling him too? Yeah. That'd only take a few years. After that, what? Go on to college with his stellar academic record, and continue diligently pursuing his love of education? Get a job, so he could earn all that money he'd spend in his high-profile life of catting and toading? Apologize to Sam and ask for a place on the team again?
Calley had a slight snerk on his face as he ordered a scallop pasta.
Yeeeeeah. He wasn't exactly X-material, and he wasn't exactly college-and-career ready. The problem was, he wasn't really fit for the Order, either. Case in point: that charming day when the other Orderlings had still been off in Romania to play, and Calley had gotten beaten up by a girl in sneakers. A girl who needed to write memos to herself to remember her own name.
He slid a little lower in his seat, his head thumping against the vinyl backing. Yeah. For all his Mondragon Labs whale bombing and King Pharmaceuticals X-Men mauling, he really wasn't doing so good with this whole 'becoming a stronger person' thing.
For the record, he could totally take Sneakers Girl, with her lame mutation. In fact, if she were here right now, he would. Definitely. Calley mauled a biscuit as he waited on his pasta. The lobster tank bubbled. The door opened, with a ringing bell.
Calley knew this was an illusion. The scything tails, the reaching claws, the three mouths full of glinting teeth--all quite fake.
Clang.
He just didn't know how fake they'd feel. Kat was really going out of her way to play this up, just as he'd asked. What with the lance impact, and the twanging bow string. Yes. This is what he'd asked for. The, ah, hot breath scalding from its gaping jaws was a good touch. Really.
Clang.
The stallion startled into a rear, its hooves flashing out at one of the heads in an instinctive startle tactic. Then he went to do the noble thing: flee. To the damsel's rescue.
Leaving behind his Knight, armed only with her wooden bow.
She took away all the pointy objects. Calley was split between appreciating that, and resenting the kiddy-toad-proofing. He settled on a happy median of ignoring what she'd done.
>> "So, it looks like I changed you into a poison toad."
"Croak?"
She turned the book so he could see, and went on with her science jargon. The moral of the story: he was a legal toad. Just not legal to… milk. How lovely. How did a person even go about milking a toad, per se? He didn't exactly have udde--wait, did he? No. No, he didn't. Calley put his toady forelegs on the book, and surveyed the page's contents with great toad skepticism. No description of this so-called 'milking' was offered. Which was… perhaps just was well.
>> "I won't smoke anything you produce."
There was a pause before she said that. A pause, and a freaky eyes-changing-color-thing. Was she like Cafas? Did her eyes signal her moods?
…Should yellow worry him?
>> "Truth is, I have no idea how to change you back."
Her chin came down to toad level. Calley hopped over the book (displaying, with modest pride, his new hopping skills), and came to a rest next to her cheek. He gave it a consoling, toad-footed pat. She really was trying hard. Even if she was a friend of Slate's, distinctly odd, and distinctly wrong in her theory.
>> "You know, in the original version of the legend, you have to smash the toad against the wall instead of kissing it..."
Toad. Foot. Retracted. Calley sat very still for a moment. Then he puffed. There was only one correct reply to that.
The urge to sarcasm was strong. Strong within the toad.
>> "What are you doing in there?"
Stronger, it grew.
Perhaps he should be grateful to her, for taking him out of the cold and into her room, for picking him out of the trash, and for brushing pieces of paper off of his toady head while one of his legs involuntarily kicked. In fact, he was grateful. Yes. But.
>> "I'd be more careful if I were you."
The urge to sarcasm.
>> "Now sit still."
Continued to grow.
As the bookworm burrowed, Calley made a point of--thank you very much--not sitting still. The sooner he learned this form completely, the sooner he'd be able to shift back. Sometimes it only took a few hours. Or, at least, that's how long it used to take. Since that little incident with Luke sonar-blasting his mind, the quickest he'd mastered a form was three days.
Calley fought his depression with hopping. Hop. Hop. He caved to his sarcastic urges by hopping her book stacks. Hop. H--thunk. (Her book stacks occasionally won.)
>> "There. Colorado River toad. Bufo alvarius."
Croooo, the toad commented levelly, squaring its legs as it sat directly in front of her, ack.
The witch returned about a half an hour later. The toad did not see the nerdly stack of books she carried, nor did he note the care she took to make sure he wasn't under them when she set them on the desk. Furthermore, he disagreed with her stated first course of action. A croak came from the side of the desk, along with a rattling of plastic against wood.
Calley's first foray from the desk had ended in the trash can.
Personally, I'd get her in more threads and play things out a bit longer. Jaxon is still essentially a new character to MRO, given your absence; it's rather normal not to know where new characters are going. RP with more people, get into more situations both good and bad, and try and get a feel for her. I've never been a fan of forcing characters to go either good or bad; I like to see where they take me, as I start getting into RP arcs with other players.
His sounds, were they. His 'sounds.' She seemed to speak with unnecessary derision. The toad's eyes sunk half-way down into its bulbous head. He thought this form had a fine voice, by toad standards. It was certainly adequate. And it had been the first thing he'd learned to use. Ellipses were not necessary to describe it, thank you. It wasn't as if her voice was a treat to the ears.
...Where were his ears?
>> "Maybe I should ask you yes or no questions."
She got his hopes up.
>> "Think about it. I am going to the library to find a book on amphibians. I'll be right back."
And then she left the room.
The toad was left sitting on her desk, one eye twitching as the door closed behind her. Her parting advice was drowned out in his editorial CROAK. How about she try asking if he was Slate? How was that for a yes-or-no question?
His fair Lady Knight seemed to appreciate her new weapons. Guingalet gave a properly pleased head toss. It might ruin things slightly if Maya knew she was holding Cereberotaur's brother in her hands, but there was no need to tell the knight(ess) about such minor details.
Illusive arrow met illusive breast, and illusive bowstrings twanged against flesh.
>> "Son of a b****!"
Solid aughisky's snorted merrily, as nefarious beasts are wont to. Cereberotauro seemed far, far less pleased.
The seconds to midnight counted down. The beast's six eyes gained a suddenly sinister gleam. Two of them watched the Lady Knight, one daring her, the other mocking. The third head arced down toward's Katrina, its great jaws agape.
Your damsel, Lady Knight, was in (even more) danger.
