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.
Did she say something? He blinked at her, but until the wind around her died down there didn't seem to be anything to do. He waited, and then she spoke again. Hopefully it was the same thing.
A name! Crow liked getting names. They were nice, and it was hard to be friends without knowing names, although there were work-arounds. Like his name! It wouldn't work very well to try to introduce each and every member of his flock to people, either by expecting them to remember or by having to come to some sort of agreement about them all. He knew who everyone was; that was enough. And way easier.
"Crow," he replied cheerfully, briefly flicking a thumb at himself. "Not as nice a name as Maya but easy to remember." He took another peer over the railing. So high! "Not together like this. Our balance is... well, last time we tried we nearly broke a wing. Wasn't fun at all."
Crow noticed the drop in wind and the voice at roughly the same time and processed each observation separately. Less violent wind was very nice, and he was able to relax the muscles in his wings slightly. They were still tensed, but he pulled on the old bruises less. Plus it felt less likely to set off muscle cramps. Those were such a pain.
Now, voice. Female, moderate age, clearly not anti-mutant. He pulled his gaze away from the dizzying height. Nothing stood out about the woman. Not cold-proof, with the bundling and whatnot.
"These wings are happier to catch a gust than to carry us," Crow said dryly but amiably, and then curiously stretched an arm sideways. The wind caught abruptly at his fingertips, and he withdrew them. "Did you...?" he asked, and then smiled faintly. "Thank you."
It was great, having somewhere secure to return to. A home. Plus the free food, showers, and warmth did wonders for giving him the strength and comfort to forge out into the wild winter (not really, but plenty cold without shelter) to explore his new territory.
The most famous landmarks were, of course, the place to start. The random fellow shelterer who had suggested this particular building probably hadn't realized what high wind thought of wings.
Crow had taken the elevator. It hadn't occurred to him just how windy it was going to be that far up; for someone made out of birds, he didn't exactly spend a lot of time anywhere near this high off the ground.
Plus there was the part where he did. not. fly with the wings he currently bore, which poked out of an experimentally modified winter jacket (better than a bare back, at least) just enough to clamp tight. The wings which flicked out to correct his balance when the first gust of wind shoved him sideways to try and slam the heavy door shut on his foot. His foot was not injured, but mostly because the gust caught his wings with ferocious glee and sent him careening towards the railing.
He caught the railing, but not without adding a new line to his mostly-faded bruises. He clung to the railing with his clumsy, slippery mitts and carefully tucked his wings away to keep the wind from sneaking underneath them again. It was cold, and he didn't want to have to try to reclaim his scattered donated clothing from however many city blocks the wind would love to spread them across.
"Probably should have waited for a calmer day," he muttered to himself, heedless of the people around him. A couple of humans were probably eyeing him, since he was undeniably a mutant, but he was more occupied with the cold and not flying over the railing and then eventually the view itself.
And then going back to clinging to the railing. Mountains, okay. Apparently that didn't translate to extreme heights.
The outermost birds shuffled and pushed until the heat was slightly more fairly shared. The degree of fairness may have been dependent on just how good a threat or blackmail offer an individual bird was able to offer to the rest, a process greatly aided and quieted by their mental integration.
There was a definite consensus among the murder, however: this colourful bird ought to become an honorary member of the flock. That was possible, wasn't it? It seemed completely out of the question and impossible for the stranger to become self and actually be part of the flock, but honorary membership ought to work. He could do that. A nod to himself rippled through the crowded birds. "Caw."
"Oh, cool. Mutant shelter. Figured we'd come across one eventually." This made a lot more sense and was less likely to get holes poked through him. This day had started out horrible but it was definitely looking to be a wonderful one overall! Food and showers and beds and showers and food and clothes and showers and food!
Yesssss oh bruises. Almost forgot about those. Heh.
"Oh, we don't mind talking. Social creatures and all that. The delightful decorations are... er... kinda partly our fault." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Thought a sandwich wasn't wanted. Also thought the person nearby was human. Wrong on both counts. Especially when she started throwing some weird glowy explosiveness. Bad aim. She blew up the sandwich." That was very sad. But this sanctuary place had more food! And showers! HOT SHOWERS AND FOOD! Could they go now? Could they could they could they?
To be entirely honest, it amused Crow almost as much to legally be Finn Rocas no longer as how people reacted when they found out they were talking with a 'corpse.' Not that they weren't, at least in part, what with his ribs, but hey! It was the paper that counted!
"Oh that's great!" Weddings were amazing! He'd never been to one, but still! He grabbed Andrea by the wrists and spun her around in a happy little circle before it occurred to him that the contact might not be welcome. "Ahem. Congratulations." He may have been flushed with excitement, as much as white and black skin can show a blush properly, but mostly he was trying to keep from laughing and walk.
Oh that was preeeeeet-not his. Ahem. Crow looked up from his scrutiny of the pretty ring to grin at Andrea again. "It's gorgeous," he declared, and then stifled a snort at her description of her boyo. "Don't you be afraid to slap him into proper manners," he said cheerfully before shrugging at her door-holding and stepping inside. Ooooh warm indoors! "Guys can be pretty dense sometimes, but we learn. Eventually." He winked.
So. A cautious one and an adventurer. Crow had always been more of the adventurer sort himself, saving caution for times when the adventuring had got him beaten to a useless pulp.
... more or less like right now.
Eh, if the explodey girl came back, she was now far more effectively outnumbered. The cautious kid's armour looked tough enough to take a few blasts, enough to get in a good tail-swipe, Crow imagined. Yes, yes that would be well deserved. Well deserved indeed!
"Hivemind? We suppose. Sounds cooler than a non-representative democracy, anyway." Unique, yes, amazing, meh. It didn't kill him, but it didn't make his life much easier.
... He was actually offering the hotdog? His free arm agreed in an instant and the hotdog was disappearing into Crow's mouth before his expression had time to even consider updating. Tch, he really should have waited. Now his speaking-tube was occupied by delicious oh so delicious it was like heaven itself had fallen down and taken up residence in his mouth oh right. Anyway, he couldn't answer Roach. Not without choking; that would be quite unfortunate and rather ironic. Chew chew chew, be insanely jealous of his face and throat birds, swallow.
Ahhhhhhh.
Now, where was he? "Oh, that." Crow carefully licked the last stray crumbs from his fingertips (which were mostly clean! Really!) before rubbing his shoulder-scar to show that it was just that, a scar. "Awkward as it sounds, running up to a shotgun and intentionally staying in its line of fire was the best idea at the time. We were the only ones who died, though." He didn't demonstrate the historical nature of his rib-scar; touching something that was supposed to be self but felt like nothing of the sort was weird.
He angled his head and convinced himself the drool he was swallowing was just the after-effect of that wonderful hot dog. Food. Clothing (if such a thing were manageable; that snake-haired Andrea girl had seemed to think so). Hot-
Hot showers?
Crow very nearly collapsed on the spot. He hadn't had a hot shower in so long. Oh so long... Even before the whole burning-down-every-mutant-friendly-building-in-the-city incident he'd been as scarce with them as he could manage, what with the cost of heating water.
Wait, apartment? Crow raised an eyebrow. "We aren't quite beaten up enough to need to crash on a couch," he said drily, for all that staying on his feet at the thought of a hot shower was exceedingly difficult. The clear disapproval from the stabby-tailed cautious kid helped, though. Rooming with dangerous mutants? Sure! Rooming with dangerous mutants who clearly didn't want to be rooming with him?
"Caw?" Crow was confused by the fire-notcrow-notmagpie's sudden alarm. He hopped around uneasily, a few of his more nervous birds fluttering into the air to perch on various pieces of furniture, and the rest were quick to follow and so clear a path for the walking fireball.
Oh, the left-rib corpse. The fire guy had noticed that, did he?
Oh sh*t the heat was going with him. Crow flicked his various wings and did his best to follow the brighter avian without crowding him.
Nooooo not the flames! The mournful murmuring the murder muttered was entirely for the loss of the fire, but if the colourful warm one cared to interpret it differently, so be it. The request itself, however, deserved a proper answer. The nearest crow was nudged forward to shrug his wings. "Caw." The loss wasn't new, but carrying around the reminder was a heck of a lot more comfortable than trying to walk around without him. He should probably get around to trying to replicate the success he'd had with his shoulder at some point...
Living without shelter for several months taunt a murder a thing or two. One of these things was to always keep a sentry posted.
Sentry noticed the fire was moving. Sentry did not quite process this as a threat for a while, having simply drawn the figurative short stick by not calling shotty-not fast enough and being far too easily entrances by the dancing flames. Oooh pretty warm fire.
... Fire had wings. Sentry squawked in surprise and pecked his fellows awake until the entire murder was staring at the mysterious burning bird. Wasn't he a little toasty, sitting in the flames like that? No, there was clearly an association with fire. The set up must be intentional. Such intent and such a polite greeting clearly deserved a polite response, did it not?
"Caw!" Oh, be quiet. Only one of them had to talk at a time. There was a brief struggle as the second-caw-er was reprimanded and shoved to the back of the flock to watch the entrance in the cold.
Heaven. Absolute heaven. There was no denying this simple truth.
Crow was warm.
Crow was full.
Crow was clean.
In no particular order, but ALL TOGETHER. He wasn't clean but frozen, he wasn't not-hungry but filthy, he wasn't warm but starving. He was clean AND full AND warm. Or, rather, he was clean and full and not-cold; he was exploring for the moment, so he wasn't entirely warm yet.
Or... maybe he was going to be!
He had found a fairly large, seemingly empty room, see. There were couches and comfortable things like that, but what caught his attention was a fireplace.
A large, well-lit fireplace.
A very well-lit fireplace.
He shattered without a moment's hesitation, scrambling out of his freshly washed coveralls (which had been less held together by dirt than he had thought!) and stepping freely on his own bruises in an entirely self-serving attempt to get to the fireplace first. After a few moments of squirming and squawking, his clothing settled to the floor, shrouding a forgotten lump of long-dead birdflesh, and the murder piled in front of the flames. Such warmth! It was wonderful!
Wait! Hah! There was no time to wait when there were fiends most foul awaiting their punishment! The Predator needed more confidence! More daring! A pirate hat should be acquired for him after this. Yes. Yes! Something bold and dashing! With a big magpie feather! Surely he could find some magpies to beat up after they dealt with this mob. Yeah! There was nothing here to stand in the Predator's way, surely!
Oh no! The mob shifted! Crow's entire murder was lifting away from their scattered targets and winging their furious shrieking way to the younger mutant's aid.
Because they deserve it, Crow thought dozens of times over, though the cooperation necessary to give voice to the drive was impossible like this. They deserve it! Madnesses resonated through what voice he did have as he swirled and threw all of his bodies into the front of the chanting mob without the slightest regard for his own wellbeing. Get them. Get them! GET THEM!
With each impact, Crow danced back and up, then raked through the heads and faces of his opponents on his way to regroup for another assault. GET THEM! He did what he could to funnel a narrow stream of fools towards the Predator, making use of his wider reach to distract and delay the larger group. Get them! Get them all!
The city was a curious thing at night. All sort of things and creatures and people crept out of the shadows as light gave up its territory the the conquering darkness. Crow had felt surprisingly restless of late, and regularly found himself flying out from his new home base at all hours of the day and night. Hm. Perhaps that was it? That he had a home base? It was definitely a nice, protected place, and feeling full and warm and clean certainly did wonders for his outlook.
Why, then, was he scattered through these trees, the Predator nearby under his watchful gaze, staring at the evening's throngs of people with such rage?
Eh, who cared? This was a familiar rage, a rage that whispered from his scars and reminded him of the people who had raised arms against his fellows and tried to slaughter them - had succeeded in murdering some of them. Many of the remaining leaves fell from the trees he inhabited as he shuffled, cawed to himself, and took flight.
He swept a bird past Sylar to invite him into the impending fray, and then he was there, scratching and pecking and battering at faces throughout the entire crowd, screeching a path for the Predator to pave with blood and broken bone.
A real name? Ah, so these were that kind of mutant. Interesting and appreciated.
THE HOTDOG MOVED.
IT ALMOST FELL OFF.
These two observations were effectively simultaneous, and resulted in a few more moments of fixated staring. Oh right oh right be polite don't get beaten up respond somewhat intelligently.
"We, yes." He gestured at his various bird-markings, most of them visible in all their (increasingly and irregularly bruised) glory since he was too sore to do more than tie the arms of his coveralls around his waist. Twisting to get the arms on, even with the clothing backwards (which they weren't at the moment) would have just been too painful. He could handle the temperature during the day, though. Anyway. "Each of these is us. We don't have to stay together, but it is usually easier to do things cooperatively."
The younger, hooded mutant - Predator - was definitely not as confident and outgoing as Roach, but he did seem to have a proper appreciation for being taunted by food. Crow shot him a relieved glance. "We... have not been here long enough to know where to find food well in this city in this season," he admittedly slowly, running the blades of his bone-feather necklace between his fingertips to try to distract himself, "which is normally compounded but currently eased by our rather weak sense of smell." He tapped his nose, realized too late that he was aiming for one of his young bruises, and winced at the contact. Idiot.
Crow messed with his hair for a moment. "Horrible? We guess. We weren't the worst off, though. No fresh injuries -" he was still carrying the numbness of one prior injury, though, although it was kind of related... no need to worry Andrea, though "- or anything like that. Just lost stuff." Lots of stuff, like money. It would have helped to have that in a bank or something, but hey, he was legally dead already.
Greek mutants were celebrities? That was interesting. "So over there, you get swarmed by adoring people? Must be easier to get bills to pay, at least."
Ummmm had he just inspired Andrea to share her life story? Huh. That felt like it ought to be a bit awkward. He let her talk, though, just leaning back a little to watch the sky. Nice and grey. If it weren't for the city around, this might almost feel like home. Not as damp, of course, but better than some of the land he had crossed on his way here.
"Cities do definitely offer more variety than small communities. The place we were born, well, all the islands put together had about five thousand people. There weren't any people who were openly mutants; people like us were always an issue other places dealt with. The mainland, cities, places like that." He shrugged. "We found out there were actually mutants among us when the local doctor smuggled us onto a ferry. Apparently our mother came across us after our wings came in - not a pleasant time, that - and had a bit of a breakdown. He was an illusionist of sorts, I think. At any rate, we have a death certificate somewhere." He grinned. "Guess that means we can't even pretend to be Finn Rocas anymore, can we?" The thought amused him, to be 'Crow' so thoroughly. "But anyway - surely you have more pleasant experiences than just awkward familial relations?"
