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 Chris Berg on Jun 16, 2014 16:33:10 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
Chris was relieved that she wasn't a mindreader - those just completely creeped him out. However, he didn't know what to make of the palm reading. Superstitions were really confusing to him - he had a very practical mindset, and had a hard time wrapping his heads around anything he couldn't see, touch, hear or smell. "I don't see how my hands have anything to do with my future," he admitted.
It was true that he was starving, though. The mutant woman was mixing words from a foreign language into her sentences. French? He had noticed her unusual accent earlier, and if he had to hazard a guess he'd say that she was from New Orleans. Chris was not particularly well-traveled, but even he recognized that unique blend of speech patterns. Although she was speaking in a very old-fashioned way... but maybe that's just how they spoke down there, he'd never been to New Orleans so he couldn't really say. When she patted on the bench he just looked at her. Then he slowly walked towards the bench, sat down beside her and pulled up his legs under him. "Chris. Nice to meet you too."
He opened up the bag and took a long look at the assortment of raw fish inside. The darkness of the corner where they sat made it hard to tell the different pieces of sashimi apart by look. Chris ignored the fork and the chopsticks and instead picked up one of the pieces delicately between his thumb and index finger. He breathed in the smell of it and then finally took a small bite. It was tuna, but miles away from that canned atrocity you'd buy in the store. This was vibrant, fresh, tangy and absolutely delicious. He devoured the rest of it in one bite.
While he was trying to decide on the next treat, like a kid with a bag of candy, he glanced over at the other mutant. Emily. "You're not from around here. Why did you come to New York?"
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 15, 2014 17:16:02 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
She sighed, apparently not pleased by his explanation. And now it seemed like she recognized him; when Mirror asked if he was one of the mansion kids he nodded to confirm the statement. "I stayed at the mansion for a while, yes. That was three years ago, though. And I'm twenty-one, I don't count as a kid anymore." While he spoke he started to pull at his fingers, one after one. He looked down at his hands while doing so. "I appreciate you letting me stay there, and I think it is a very important place. But it wasn't for me."
And as for her two last questions... "The entrance fee is ten dollars. And... the reason why I'm here is a bit complicated," he said and then hesitated. He looked up from his fidgeting hands straight at Mirror. He had trouble putting his reasonings into words. It made sense to him, but he wasn't sure it would make sense to another person. But she had asked...
"I had an isolated upbringing. I was twelve the first time I spoke to another person, except my grandfather. Four years ago I came to New York to learn more about people, and... left because it was so overwhelming." He told it in a matter-of-fact way, and then shrugged. "But there's still much I don't know about all of you. It's like... I have these gaps in my understanding of the world. It's frustrating. I don't know why you people put value in certain things, why things that have no impact on your life makes you sad or happy, or why you do all the millions upon millions of pointless things you do." He was talking faster and faster, and now he started to pace back and forth, hands fidgeting in front of him. "And that brings me here. Art. It has no purpose, no function. You can't use it for anything. Some pay millions for it, others despise it. Why? How can something with no function and such a high value anger so many? I just... need to see it so I could..." He stopped in his track and looked back over his shoulder at Mirror. "I'm rambling. Sorry."
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 15, 2014 16:03:26 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
When she said that she was fine and wanted to know why he asked, Chris looked to the side. He didn't know what to answer to that. He didn't have a good reason to ask, except for a hint of something he couldn't really place. And if there was one social rule he'd learned it was that you never commented on how people smelled. Or, rather... he'd heard how other people sometimes complimented each other's smells and it seemed to be appreciated, but when he'd tried telling someone he thought they smelled good he was usually just met with an awkward silence. Weird, that. The girl killed a fly that had landed on her cheek without flinching. Impressive reflexes.
When she said that she was a mutant, Chris relaxed a bit. He always felt more comfortable around other mutants, except the crazy ones who'd tear people to shreds just for fun. Well, at least this one hadn't shown any signs of craziness yet. She didn't say what her mutation was, which was alright by him. Some mutants loved showing off their abilities, others didn't. And people like himself had no choice, but he'd accepted that by now. So he just nodded and gave her a small smile. "Ah... yes. We sometimes have that effect on people."
Suddenly a worried look came over him. There was one kind of mutant he couldn't stand being around, even if they had good intentions. "Are you a psychic?" The idea of someone being able to peek into his skull made his skin crawl.
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 14, 2014 19:04:23 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
Chris turned around at the sound of the opening and closing door. The young woman was approaching again, and she was holding a plastic bag with take-away. The sight of it made Chris's face lit up with a genuine smile, but as she got closer, his smile started to falter a bit. A part of Chris's mutation manifested itself in altered senses of sight, hearing and smell. They were all greatly improved underwater, but on land his sight was worse than a regular human's while his hearing was about the same level and his sense of smell was a bit better. The woman smelled of some perfume he didn't recognize. It was fresh without being overwhelming, but... there was something else under it. He couldn't really place it, but it felt... unsettling.
He accepted the take-away bag as she excused herself for taking so long. "No... no trouble at all. Thank you so much." He was surprised at the bag's weight - it felt like they'd thrown in an entire tuna in it. He hadn't expected that he could get so much for 30 dollars. Either he remembered it wrong or the Wasabi Palace had some seriously low prices. Not that he was complaining, though.
Chris turned his attention back at the woman to thank her one last time, and there it was again. The feeling that his hair would have stand on end if he'd have any. He might be awful at reading social cues, but he had good instincts... and right now they were telling him that there was something a bit off about his helper. "Sorry for asking, but are you alright, miss...?"
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 14, 2014 18:22:49 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
More time than five minutes? He was pretty sure he could look at some paintings in that amount of time. He wasn't writing a thesis about them. But before he could make that argument, a couple of loud voices could be heard from the entrance. German. Chris froze, and that's when the X-woman grabbed his arm and... reality started to shift around them. It felt like they were moving, or that the world was moving around them, at a breakneck speed. The disorienting experience was cut short when they both fell to the ground. Chris scrambled to his feet with his back pressed against the white tiles of the wall, looking around wildly as he got his bearings. Bathroom stalls. A row with four sinks. Big mirror covered the wall above the sink.
His heart still beating quickly from whatever-had-just-happened, he stared back at the other mutant. "You can't just sneak into places like this! What if someone called security?!" Chris's eyes narrowed as he tried to bring her face into focus, but now he was pretty sure he recognized her. He'd heard about the shape-shifting, mirror-traveling mutant when he'd stayed at the mansion. He'd never seen her... or his... powers in action, but the description matched what he'd just experienced. "...Mirror?"
He clamped his hand around the edge of the nearby sink, forcing himself to calm down. It had just been a freaky trip through some sort of mirror-dimension. Nothing to get freaked out about. He didn't let go of the sink just yet, though. It felt good. Solid. "Technically, I just did," he corrected her previous statement that you can't sneak into places like this. Then he shrugged. "And if they called security I'd get thrown out. Or arrested. But... I see your point," he admitted, before looking back at her with a still serious expression. "Can I borrow ten dollars?"
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 14, 2014 4:27:28 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
The sudden voice behind him made Chris jump, and he immediately turned around while taking a few steps back to both get a better look at the person who'd snuck up on him and to create some distance between them. It was a woman. His yellow eyes travelled down to her familiar outfit - she was with the X-men, apparently. That could be both good and bad. Chris hadn't had much contact with the X-men per se when he'd stayed at the Mansion two years back, but he knew that they were peace-keepers and working to promote human-mutants relationships. He might not share the same aspirations, but in his opinion, a group like the X-men were needed.
This particular X-woman was vaguely recognizable; he had probably seen her around the Mansion, but he didn't think they'd spoken before.
Seeing as they were upholders of the law meant that she'd probably have to force him out of the museum since he was, technically, intruding. He didn't consider it a break-in, though - as she finished her sentence, Chris started to fervently shake his head. "Oh, no no no. I'm not breaking in. The museum is open, not closed. I just wanted to take a quick look, I'm not here to steal." He held up his hands before him in a gesture to show that he hadn't stolen anything and that he wasn't armed - not like there was anything to steal in the big empty room. Chris gave her a pleading look. "I just... I need to see what it is. I want to understand. Just... ten minutes, then I'll be gone. Five minutes. Please." He held up the four fingers on his right hand and one finger of his left, indicating the number of minutes until he'd leave.
And, in case she'd approach him - one of the door openings that lead to another exhibition room was close to his right. He was pretty sure he could make a quick dive into the room before she caught him. The thought of fighting a member of the X-team didn't even occur to him, but maybe he could get a quick look inside.
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 13, 2014 18:12:12 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
The young woman took his money and headed off towards the restaurant without a word before Chris even had the chance to say "thanks." Chris felt his empty stomach growl with anticipation. Getting food for himself was usually not a problem since he was good at hunting and fishing... but today he wanted to be hungry. It would be his first sashimi since he got back to New York, andhad he looked forward to it with a fervor. Raw fish and fowl usually tasted pretty much the same, but the different flavors a sashimi plate offered... there was no comparison. He enjoyed hunting, but sashimi was one of the things he enjoyed eating.
It also held a deeper meaning to him, one that went back to his first days in New York a couple of years back. He'd been terrified of the city. He had found exactly everything threatening, from the way the buildings towered above him to the constant stream of cars and curious passer-bys. His first meeting with two other mutants, Meld and Mongoose, and the sushi dinner they'd invited him too had been the first thing he'd enjoyed in New York... except that it all had ended in a vicious bloodbath, mostly thank to Meld's way of responding to threats with extreme violence. He could still remember the human group's screams as she had... shredded them.
Chris turned towards the restaurant to see how the woman who had decided to help him was doing. It was taking some time, but he had waited long enough getting someone to help him. He had no problems waiting a bit more for the food.
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 13, 2014 16:16:38 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
The Sterling & Bartolomei Arts Foundation didn't correspond to the image Chris had of a museum. He wouldn't say that it looked disappointing from the outside, just... severely underwhelming. The front wall, wedged in between two residential apartment buildings, was a four floor concrete wall. That's it. No giant stone pillars, no windows, no nothing. Shouldn't galleries have big windows to let a lot of light in? The only opening in the grey concrete was the open glass door on the bottom floor, which showed a minimalistic interior. All you could see from the street outside was a white wall with the museum's name painted in black, and a wooden counter next to the door. A female receptionist was standing behind it.
So from the outside it seemed like a drab place. That didn't dissuade Chris, though: he had made his decision. He wanted in. He wasn't terribly interested in modern art to begin with; on the contrary, he had no idea what it was. When he had heard about modern art in conversations it always seemed to be mentioned in a negative way. My three-year-old can paint like that, it's not real art. Chris wanted to try to understand what it was that could evoke so much emotions in so many people, and since his notion of modern art was just a blank space he clearly needed to go and educate himself.
The only barrier between himself and understanding was a measly 10 dollars in entrance fee... 10 dollars he didn't have. But with a little luck that wouldn't matter. There was a security guard standing in front of the open glass door, a heavy-set man in his fifties. Right now, he was standing gesticulating wildly to a German family, getting redder in the face by the minute because of the frustrating language barrier. Chris stood a bit to the side, shoulders a bit slouched and his head covered by his grey hoodie's cowl. He didn't care much about his appearance, and that certainly showed: his clothes were dirty and looked like they had been lived in for some time, and he didn't have any shoes since none suited his toad-like, three-toed feet anyway. "Nein! This is nicht Moma, this... You have to go here. Nein! This is the wrong part of New York! Wrongen... parten!"
When the guard seemed to be completely engrossed in the tourists and their map Chris took his chance. He passed by behind the guard as quickly and quietly as he could and dropped down to his hands and feet. He quickly crept in through the open door and passed by the wooden counter on all four - the receptionist didn't even look up from her desk. He crawled around the white wall with the gallery's name on and then stood up again, squinting in an attempt to take it all in. The room he'd entered was long and thin, and four floors high. The ceiling was entirely made of glass, showering the long hall with light. The walls to the left and right of the room were in grey concrete, just as the front facade, with a couple of doors that probably lead into other, smaller exhibition rooms. The only decoration in the room was an enormous mural covering the four-floor farthest wall - Chris's eyesight was too bad to make out any details, but it was absolutely shining with color: red, purple, orange, blue. The mutant took a few steps forward, trying to get a better view of the mural.
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 13, 2014 12:13:58 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
The person turned around, and now that he was closer he could see that it was a woman. She had dark, wavy hair, a long skirt and a scarf around her neck. She didn't seem to be annoyed by him, which was a promising start. "What can I do for you, shuga?" Chris crinkled his nose at her choice of words, not out of annoyance but out of confusion. He had been called a lot of things, but this was the first time someone had called him "sugar." At least that's what he thought she'd said. Well, her polite tone was definitely encouraging, and he decided to ask her before she lost her patience. Chris pointed with one elongated, webbed finger to one of the restaurants on the other side of the street. It was a quite small restaurant; just two windows and one door was facing the street, but through those windows you could see that the restaurant's interior was stretched out quite a bit inwards. The restaurant was dimly lit, as opposed to the countless fast-food joints in the area that always drenched their interiors in as much light as possible, and you could just make out the Japanese-inspired decor inside. There seemed to be a couple of guests, though it was by no means full. The green neon sign above the entrance read Wasabi Palace. "Do you see the restaurant there? Could you go inside and buy as much sashimi as you can get for this?" He was speaking hurriedly, as if she'd walk away if he was too slow explaining what he wanted. As he spoke, he dug through his hoodie's front pocket again and fished out a handful of dollar bills. They were crinkled and a bit moist after being held in his clammy hand; all in all, it seemed to be around 30 dollars. He took a step towards the young woman and held out the money towards her. "Anything is good, as long as there's no rice in it, but preferably raw tuna, eel and shellfish. No vegetables. No wasabi." His voice slowed down a bit, and he gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry, I know it's a bother, and I can't pay you for it. But I'll owe you a favor."
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 12, 2014 14:20:13 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
Hello! I was just wondering if anyone would want to hang out with Chris? I'm pretty much open for anything: a fight, a planned event or maybe just hanging out. One event I have been thinking about is having him snuck into an art museum. Someone who'd be interested in that?
Oh, and feel free to join him in the open thread I just posted! Fishing For Favors
Posted by Chris Berg on Jun 12, 2014 14:15:05 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
The night air was clear with just a tang of cold - it was finally that time of the year when it was pleasant to be outside even during the night. This particular street wasn't one of New York's main attractions, with just a few dingy restaurants and bars spread along it. A few people were out here tonight, looking for food and entertainment. One of them didn't seem to be walking somewhere particular, though. Chris was standing a bit to the side, weighing from foot to foot while looking at the people who passed him by. He was waiting for someone. Someone who didn't seem to be in a rush, who wasn't walking with a group, who wasn't talking on the phone. He noticed a man just standing on the sidewalk some distance away from him, oblivious of the mutant who was watching him. As Chris looked, the man lit a cigarett and took a drag. Chris himself took a deep breath and decided to approach the man. "Sorry to bother you, but could I ask for a favor?" The man looked over his shoulder, seemingly a bit annoyed at being approached by a stranger, and jumped when he caught sight of Chris. The young mutant knew that most people found his appearance disturbing, with grey, clammy skin, pale yellow eyes, flat nose and sharp teeth. His constantly dank clothes that looked (and smelled) like they'd been lived in for a good chunk of time didn't really help. So before the smoking man could brush him off he stuck his webbed hand into his hoodie's front pocket and fished out a handful of crinkled dollar bills, holding them out to the older man. "I was just wondering if -" But the smoking man would have none of that, and instead shook his head and started to walk away quickly. Chris started to following him, the draft of the brisk pace blowing some of the dollar bills out of his hand. "It's just a quick favor. Please." "Sorry pal, can't help you there."
Chris stopped following him and instead went back to pick up the money he'd dropped. He'd been trying this for some time. At least one hour, maybe more. He wasn't ready to give up, though. Tonight, he was a man with a mission. After stuffing the money back into his front pocket he started to look around for another person he could ask. As luck would have it he caught sight of a person standing close to the railing, looking out over the East river and the skyline on the other side. The dim light and Chris's bad eyesight made it hard for him to pick out any distinguishing features from that far away; he couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. He approached the person carefully, stopping a few feet away so the person wouldn't feel being snuck up on. Plus, Chris always choose to have a few feet between himself and a stranger if he could help it. "Hello, I am sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you could help me with a thing? Please." His voice was low, polite and hopeful - maybe the 37th time would be the charm?
Posted by Chris Berg on Apr 24, 2014 12:41:13 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
79
1
Mar 20, 2015 9:51:23 GMT -6
Apparently it was customary for designers to speak about themselves at deities or magicians. When Narissa presented herself Chris just nodded and added a polite "I see." He wondered what it would be like if he started to present himself with the same amount of confidence. Christopher Berg, lord ruler of the aquatic realms. But my friends call me Chris.
He followed the designer into the shop, which was an explosion of colors, patterns and fabric. How they were able to get anything done in there was beyond Chris' comprehension. There seemed to be multiple projects going on at the same time, occupying the work spaces. Chris reached out after a grey fabric with silver threads running through it, but withdrew his hand before touching it. Narissa and Mordekai probably had some sort of system going on in here. No need to mess it up.
It was a relief that the female designer seemed to have a more practical outlook on what Chris should wear than her male counterpart. Chris didn't know what a neon muscle shirt was, and he wouldn't find out that evening either if he had something to say about it. "Thank you, Narissa," he said, visibly relaxing. He looked straight at her and added in a total deadpan voice: "Not to sound ungrateful, but if you'd mentioned body glitter I'd probably have escaped through a window." Chris considered himself to be a funny guy, not realizing that his delivery was severely lacking.
She held out some clothes to him and he accepted them, holding them under his arm like an UPS package. He was a bit unsure what to do next. Should he just leave? Or should he change into the clothes then and there? The customs around receiving clothes was unclear to him, so he just stood there and looked at Narissa hoping she'd give hims some sort of clue for what to do next.
