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.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 25, 2012 23:03:14 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma was sweeping as the boys conversed about the dog, remaining politely out of the conversation. If the attention was detracted from her long enough, maybe she could make some progress on cleaning. Maybe they’d just ignore her for a time.
Back home, cryptic answers were ignored, but apparently the residents of the Sanctuary were more perceptive, and shamelessly nosier.
>> "What you mean 'means'? Where you from?"
“An airplane,” Alma clarified. Her English was also a little too clipped, a little jumbled yet formal, so descriptors were not her strong point, “A one-way ticket to New York City, from… Canada. Small town.”
There were plenty of those in Quebec, and even more within Canada as a whole. Alma swept a large pile of debris into a dust pan, then bent down, retrieved it, and dumped the trash into a garbage can. She was a quick and efficient cleaner. The room would be swept, scrubbed, and spotless in no time.
>> "What kind of problem?"
“Pulling a disappearing act,” Alma explained, “When you have nowhere to go, and no way to get there. No one physically there to help you. But, I did it.”
Her stomach twinged where the scar was, and Alma winced faintly, but made no motion to touch her stomach. They were digging for details, and she was doing her best not to give too many of them. But would keeping her mouth shut be for the better, or would it land her on the streets.
“Let us just say…” she trailed, “…that there are people who do not like what I am, and they’d rather me be… well… human or dead. It was a mess. And I needed to get out of there quickly.”
Alma needed to build trust with them, she had decided, but it was also too unsafe to allow them to be too close. She had to play her cards right. Alma gathered up another pile of debris, deposited it into the garbage can, and continued working.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 21, 2012 16:40:12 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma’s brow furrowed as the mountain of a man shouted after , running to catch-up. He claimed to have dealt with her legal problem, and Almas’ eyebrows leapt skeptically. The cops had really arrived that quickly? Probably not. He probably meant some privately-owned company utilized for basic security. His “dealing with” them had probably only pissed them off more.
“There will be more of them,” Alma retorted, “They don’t just send guards when a mutant unintentionally robs a store. They send police officers, and they’ll accuse anything that doesn’t fit the “human” description.”
“So, don’t get too big-headed before we’re in the clear. Capisce?” she gave the guy a smirk as she cautioned him. Even with four arms, he struck her as the full-of-himself, muscle-headed jock type, for which Alma had little patience. But as he was mutant, and as she was, she couldn’t leave him to take the brunt of the police attention—besides which, if he could “handle” the cops for her, he’d be of use. Alma could ditch him later.
“Let’s get out of here,” Alma said assuredly, “I know a safe place to go, but it’s a good many blocks from here. Do you have any hideouts closer-by?”
The bodachs were rippling back, their master having slowed her pace to address the muscle-head. The little ones seemed politely curious, but the larger ones crackled as they moved, flickering into view. They weren’t certain of him, and ready to make an offensive move if he did.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 21, 2012 16:22:48 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
>> "Sanc good home. Lot us run from past. We keep Sanc safe. Good place settle, relax."
Alma was born and raised to be skeptical of words. She inclined her head as the lizard-monster spoke, folding her arms. Apparently, if you were running from your past, this was a good place to be. A safe place, the lizard asserted, but Alma took that sentiment with a grain of salt. Everyone was running from different people and things. Some bad pasts were easier to get away from than others.
If her friends ever found out that she was alive, Alma would be killed for sure. She was silent in her disagreement, and intent upon watching whatever-it-was that Aurion was about to do… just about as intent as Miles was upon her. He was chattering excitedly about how he left home because of his mutation.
>> "I know what it is to leave home because of your mutation. All the things you cared about and made sense in your life are suddenly gone and you're left improvising and wondering what to do... it's not easy at all. I haven't been here that long, but so far everyone has been helpful and protective of each oth... STOP! What are you doing!?"
Alma laughed as the dog reacted at the light blow of the broom, attacking it ferociously and attempting to shake it free. What was it Miles was saying about discipline? Her chuckles quieted enough for a dry French sentiment--
“Donc, beaucoup d'être bien sage et bien formé et grâce à une discipline rigoureuse,” Alma murmured drolly, resting an elbow upon the counter and her head upon her hand as she watched the scene unfold—
Before a few final chuckles squeaked their way out—they were almost entirely silenced by the time Miles began to chastise Aurion.
>> "Why did you hit him!? He wasn't doing anything to you! Was it because the ghosts are annoying and you can't hit them back, so you take it on my poor dog!? Not cool, man!"
“Your dog is slightly eerie,” Alma said, in Aurion’s defense, getting to her feet again. She meandered over, and lightly took the slightly mangled broom, before going to sweep the floor.
“My life had very little sense to it, even before I left—and home was already more of a thing of legend than something to be missed, by that point in time,” Alma countered casually, sweeping at the debris on the floor, and gathering it into a pile, “The only option was to leave, and there was never any ambiguity over that matter. That was simple. The problem arose from the where, and from the means.”
By now, she’d made a pretty good pile of shards, and had weeded out the unbroken goods and set them on the counter. She’d wash the dishes by hand later. Alma migrated to a different area, and began sweeping again. She said nothing in regards to Aurion’s “attack” on the dog in place of her little specters. Even if that were true, there wasn’t anything that she could say in her own defense.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 18, 2012 0:26:39 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Welcome back, darling~ TwT I'm so glad that my Dia darling was my first ever "applied, approved, and posted on the boards" application. <3 *dramatic sniff* I now demand many threads of multiple kinds from you. Lol And I adore the toxic breath.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 18, 2012 0:25:05 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Congrats on the third, Gravesy. I love her profusely. >w> Your creepy third, and my creepy third, they should start a "creepy third" club and become besties.
Congratulations once again~ <3
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 18, 2012 0:17:48 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
There was too much damn cake. All sorts of it—cheese cake, a sundry of your run-of-the-mill cake in such a variety of flavors. Cake—cake everywhere. Alma hummed, picking up a container with a very chocolate-y slab of cake. I looked absolutely unhealthy, the kind of cake that would, with one bite, add five pounds. She was usually a healthy eater, but a birthday was a day upon which to make an exception. Alma surveyed the price, and winced. Dear god! These people robbed you for individual pieces of cake. She looked at a single cheesecake slice, then at an eight-serving cheesecake, and grabbed that instead. It was a lot cheaper. She balanced the cake on an arm, ventured towards cereal, and retrieved a box of brightly-colored Fruit Hoops. That should feed the shades for about a week.
Armed with food, Alma ventured back towards the front, where the lone cashier stood. She was wholly preoccupied with her task, and had not been paying heed to her shadowy followers. In her inattentiveness, the bodachs had found a candy display at the front of the store, and were surveying the enticing metallic wrappers. Slowly, they were slipping into view, one-by-one. The one closest to the shelf grabbed a chocolate-covered marshmallow off of the bottom shelf, sniffing the package. It trilled at its brothers, who soon began to flock towards the shelf.
“Find everything you were looking for, ma’am?” the man inquired.
“Yes, sir,” Alma replied fluidly, giving him a smile as she deposited the goods, “How are you this evening?”
The small talk persisted all throughout the transaction. The smaller bodachs were steadily depleting the shelf of marshmallow-chocolates and small chocolate bites, and other such things, attempting to cram two, or three, or even four things into their arms all at once. The big ones, drawn by the excitement of the smaller ones, drifted closer. And, when they realized what was happening, they too became visible.
That was when the clerk became aware of them.
“Oh sh**! Monsters! Monsters!” he shouted. Almas’ gaze flicked over her shoulder, expecting the worst. The big guys were scooping candy into their arms, and getting ready to leave.
“H-hey, what are you doing with that candy?!” Alma snapped, “Drop it, now!”
The big ones stared, and one began to reach for another bar to add to its armful.
“Ahora!” Alma snapped, annoyance flying out in a fury. The big ones dissipated, and the candy bars cascaded to the floor. Alma grabbed her grocery bag, having paid for the food, and stalked past the large bodachs (having walked the wrong direction towards the candy display) to spy the little ones. She chastised them in furious, fluid Spanish, demanding that they drop the candy now. But, rather than obey, they bolted towards the door. Alma made the mistake of chasing after them, her approach triggered the sliding door, and they were free—the alarm sounded.
"Thieves! THIEVES! I'm being robbed by a mutant!"
And, as Alma was already running, she just ran through the door.
She’d been found-out. God knew how mutants were treated by the cops—how her family was treated by them. Alma broken into a run, her attention over her shoulder. She ran head-long into a wall of solid muscle, and stumbled back with a yelp. She couldn’t turn back. And now, a seven-foot, four-armed thing was in her way. Her eyes widened, the larger bodachs coming into fruition behind her while the little ones rippled past, still toting their boon. She didn’t have time to freak-out. She had to run.
“You’d better make haste, friend,” Alma said sharply, “There’s going to be trouble. Of a legal persuasion.”
That was all the explanation she offered. Alma stepped around him, then veered down an alley with her shadowy entourage. If she didn’t get going now she’d have explaining to do.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 15, 2012 19:11:22 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
It was early on Monday evening when Alma had realized that she’d forgotten her own birthday. A teenaged high-schooler at the Sanctuary had casually asked another resident near him what date it was, to which they’d frankly recited that it was the fifteenth. Alma had paused, feeling as though she’d missed something important, but she couldn’t put her finger on what—it was only after a few moments reflection that she realized, five days ago, she’d turned twenty.
Huh. She was first struck by the inclination to ignore it—though she’d become acquainted with a few of the residents, she’d yet to make any real “friends”, so there wasn’t really any to celebrate with—her family didn’t even know that was in the City, and unless Alma settled, she’d keep her presence quiet. She wanted to keep a low profile, and should her relatives learn of her presence, they’d sic bodyguards and babysitters on her—that was the last thing she needed. Thus, going out to dinner, to the movies, or clubbing was out-of-the-question. It was no fun on your own, so why bother?
Yet, even if celebrations were a week late, the twentieth birthday was not one that should pass unceremoniously—she was graduating from the teens into a new level of existence, and was one year shy of being legally permitted to drink and to attend over-21 clubs. After a short contemplation over her options, Alma determined that her best option would be to hoof-it over to the nearest supermarket, get a personal-sized cake, then return to the Sanctuary for a one-woman celebration. It wasn’t much, but it was acknowledging a milestone.
Thus, Alma donned a coat in preparation for the nighttime drop in temperature, and trotted off on her quest. Beyond that, she wore cropped jean shorts, a t-shirt, and flat-soled black boots. Her hair was tied up into a messy bun, her eyes quick and bright. Nighttime was her time—she much preferred the cool darkness of it over the glaring, humid day. She glanced over shoulder.
Behind her, the smaller bodachs trailed like ducklings, tripping over one another, chirping amongst themselves, and following their master closely. Farther back, the larger ones lingered at a much more casual pace, lingering in alleys, looking at pedestrians inquisitively, before continuing onward. They were invisible and intangible to the naked eye, but that didn’t mean that they bothered Alma any less. Perhaps she’d buy food for them as well, while she was at it—it felt unjust to feed the bodachs with cereal meant for Sanctuary residents.
The walk to the supermarket was a short one, and upon strolling in, Alma was greeted by a blast of air conditioning and the warm-yellow glow of lights.
“Good evening, ma’am,” a male attendant greeted her from the register nearest door.
“Good evening,” Alma echoed. She’d been to the supermarket a handful of times, so knew the basic layout of the store. She veered to the left, towards the bakery, where individual pieces of cake would usually rest on refrigerated shelves. She strode towards the display, and paused, staring speculatively.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 13, 2012 12:42:43 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
If she would deign to hang-out with a nine-year-old, I'd be more than willing to have some Chase/Kait antics (with or without Oracle stuff fueling these shenanigans *chuckles*).
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Oct 13, 2012 12:40:43 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
My character Alma is also in need of some threads~ if you desire more than one thread. She's currently based out of the Sanctuary and has little commitments, so could wind-up anywhere. Let me know if you're interested. ^_^
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Sept 25, 2012 18:44:16 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
The intentions formerly accused of being roguish showed their true colors, and needless to say, the gesture did not disappoint. A chill skittered down Alma’s spine when Aedus kissed her, but not a shiver of fear or distaste—she’d been underground for a while, it had been a while since a boy had kissed her. And, judging by how she was reacting now, it could be said that Alma missed it.
Was it proper to kiss a man you’d only just met? Not at all. She knew nothing of him, spare that he’d been a statue and, now, wasn’t—or in the process of shedding that skin—and that he was very kind on the eyes. Alma answered his kiss eagerly, but with the same, polite restraint that she had shown when speaking. His hand begged her to stay as it lingered on her side, and Alma eased closer, reassuring him that, so long as he didn’t send her away, she had no intentions of leaving.
Her free hand went to the side of his neck, before moving towards the back of his head, stirring flakes of obsidian that had yet to fall. The dark-haired woman rose onto her toes slightly for, though the differences in height wasn’t too tremendous, it didn’t change the fact that she was still shorter. How could she leave, when the encounter was so full of promise?
The bodach looked-on as his mistress kissed the new acquaintance and, with an air of disinterest, meandered towards the kitchen before slipping outside, through the window—he could take a hint. His mistress wouldn’t miss him when she was so preoccupied.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Sept 19, 2012 17:28:01 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma beamed proudly at the compliment, running a flattered hand through her hair. She wasn’t too sure as to how she was supposed to reply, as her seclusion had detracted some of her former well-versedness, yet the compliments still appealed to her, and she was grateful for them.
“Thank you,” she began, her tone dropping as if she meant to say something else, yet nothing else arising for her to say. He closed his eyes as Alma hazarded steps closer, and when he opened them, they were aluminous yet normative orange. He extended a hand and took Alma’s own in his, drawing her closer. Eager steps followed the encouraging pull, and his invitation—which as just as soft and as reassuring as the hand that had guided her closer—put the inquisitive woman at ease.
Alma did her best to help with the transition, hazel eyes wide and curious as she dusted off his shoulder, exposing actual, human skin. There really was a human man under there. Alma looked towards Aedus, expecting him to be surveying the progress of his own transition, but found him surveying her, with unadorned, human features. They were incredibly close, and he was unwavering. Alma scarcely dared to breath. Aedus, all the while, managed to murmur something about reverting to a human form being for less exciting compared to becoming a statue. He then grinned an impish grin, his whole face colored by mischief, and Alma found herself reflecting the look with her own eyes.
“Given your choice of name, I could only imagine,” Alma replied fluidly. Her gaze dropped from Aedus’ eyes, meandering along the centerline of his face, recoiling as soon as her eyes found themselves peering over the point of his chin with the inclination of wandering farther down. Luckily, however, Alma stopped herself at the chin, flicking her eyes back onto the other mutants’.
“You’ve the face of a man with devilish intentions,” the Seer pointed-out, leaning slightly closer. Perhaps the seclusion made her more bold, but there were certain impulses that the woman hadn’t acted on in a while. If Aedus didn’t reciprocate what Alma was alluding to, there was neither harm nor any foul—she’d finish her tea, eat her bread, express her thanks cordially, and leave. But, if Aedus picked-up on what Alma was insinuating, and reciprocated it, perhaps they could keep one another’s company for longer?
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
