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.
META bots. Roland turned up his nose in disgust as he read the entry in the newspaper about how humans were once again upping the ante and how no one would do a thing about it. In fact, should they consider doing something about it, enter META bot, It looked like they had one of every flavor for every kind of mutant. Shock cuffs. They weren't collars, at least. Easily dispatched, should one feel alright with the momentary jolt to lose the contraption. It was a development that would really curdle the milk of Isabel. Bones versus metal wasn't a great outcome. Might tame her a bit, though. Nah, just keep her inside more.
The suspicion began to tickle at his nerves that he was being watched. As he turned the pages for no real reason, he was able to shoot a glance at a middle aged man holding a phone in a manner that would suggest that he was using the device to film Roland. Looking both ways from his park bench vantage point, there were only some children and probably a nanny running around nearby. It meant quiet, but he was certainly one who could be effective in such a case.
The moment he made eyes with his voyeur, the man looked down over his mustache and started to put his phone away. Started was quickly finished as the phone appeared in Roland's hand. Looking down at it, he noticed it had been locked. He would need the code to see just what his exposure had turned out to be. Surprise was so evident on the man's face that it was clear he was probably not an agent or a rival. Standing from the bench, he tucked the paper beneath his arm and smiled over at him. A little flourish came as mouthed the word.
Posted by Roland on Dec 22, 2013 16:54:12 GMT -6
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Friendly time had taken roost yet again. Roland took the moment to relax a tad and enjoy a moment of perceived safety. Lenna's news, or lack thereof, of Alexandra's whereabouts caused a slight sting. Not one of longing or sadness, as the sting was not in his heart. 'Always fresh meat to greet', he thought to himself. Never the boss lady, however. Lori looked like a spitfire, but business and pleasure never mixed well. Unlike his Jameson.
Her gift of the bottle was welcomed with a "Don't mind if I do." from Roland, who promptly poured himself off another nip or three. After fully wetting his whistle, the soldier folded his hands, ready to discuss his favorite topic: Details.
"The Devil is in them, you know." Lighting another Dunhill with a flick of the wrist and the Zippo's answer, he let a satisfying cloud roll from his lips and nose before delving into such a wonderful topic. " Who's running the show at the Mansion these days? I imagine there are both fresh recruits and X-Men. Noel still with the MCD? I left a memento with her that I'd like to admire." The enemy's information was number one. Who would be gunning for him besides those he already knew of?
"Also," he continued after a freshening of his glass, "besides yourself, who are the top dogs of the Order? I like knowing the pecking order. For courtesy, of course." Roland knew that he would get his own cordial interrogation, so he chose to begin with his own and get some of his own treasure down the pipe. That's what information was, after all.
Posted by Roland on Dec 17, 2013 21:20:37 GMT -6
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"You're lucky I don't have any paintings I truly care about in this office. If my Delacroix were in here, I'd be asking you to put out your smoke."
Wasn't he lucky? The aside did not sit well with Roland, but it disappeared in the wake of ego, a swell that had caught him with his discoveries. At least Lenna's straightforward approach and mostly quiet personality gave her points. She didn't rattle on about uninteresting things. Her mention at his mutation was appreciated, as all compliments were, but his thirst was greater than his interest.
Like a nondescript angel from nowhere, Lisa appeared with his desires. Not in her own way, as robotic and monotone as it was, but with her delights. Roland quickly took his seat and crossed his legs, a single bead of sweat rising to his upper lip at the sight of the Jameson. He nodded at Lisa, who gave him no quarter, and then neatly tipped the glass back. The warm and woody timber of the libation moved through Roland's spirit like a lapdance. He was glad he hadn't finished his cigarette, it's long ash gladly dropped into the fresh ashtray.
Rolling his neck with a post coital satisfaction, his lips slightly smacked in thoughts of another. He glanced at the yellow ice but would not dare lap at it like a starving dog. Soon, there would be more.
Lenna was speaking of the X-Jet. "Ah yes, it was surprisingly easy to steal. Of course, I was working with Alexandra those days. Any word from her since the merger?" The thoughts of her curves and wild hair sat quite well with the alcohol's effects. They sat straight down.
It was quite a view as the pair walked to her office. Roland found Lenna's purposeful gait and placing amusing. She probably didn't want him out of her sight, a tactic the man was used to being on lockdown. The benefit was the rear view that this gave him of her assets. Fit indeed. "I'm surprised with the merger of Mondragon and Faust that the Order is not more advanced. I mean, perhaps it is, but the Sanctuary looks similar." A few more bouncy steps. "No offense, of course." This boss was as appealing as the old one, probably as deadly. He appreciated the lack of bravado, though.
She got right to the point, which Roland appreciated. Following her into the office, he enjoyed one last bend before she disappeared into the chair, leaving her face as a sorry second. "Well, as a fellow Mondragonite, I can attest to the usual basics of self defense, marksmanship, subterfuge and the like." Taking his own seat, he pulled his Zippo out and placed it on the desk before him, along with his cigarettes. When she requested his file and the Jameson, he added, "And an ashtray." Eyebrows rose slightly in the vague stylings of someone interested in pleasing their superior. So many inconsistencies flourished in that statement.
Pulling a Dunhill, Roland toyed with the cigarette as he continued to speak, noticing the dull absence of the lighter's refusal to come to him. " I am proficient in most weapons. those I am not are fairly instinctual, no?" He rose from the chair and walked over to one of the paintings she had mounted, admiring it as his glances traced from Lenna to the lighter. " My specific skillset is thievery. I am well versed on most stealth devices and security countermeasures. My gift goes hand in hand with that sort of thing." Still nothing with the Zippo, so he stepped farther away to look at the other exhibit.
He seemed to lean into the Degas and examine it closely. His feet shifted to the far edge of the painting. "Is this a real Degas?" Looking over, nothing happened.
Nothing!
It seriously put a skittering irritation under Roland's flesh. He shrugged at the painting. "Hard to tell." Stepping back over, he picked up the lighter from the desk and stepped back toward the painting, the burning tobacco soon calming his nerves. His hands remained sweaty from the stress, however, and the lighter slipped from his hand as he clicked it shut. Like an old reflex, the lighter never hit the ground, returning to his palm before it hit the floor. A smug smirk of satisfaction crossed his features as he blew out a trail of smoke. Eight to ten feet.
"Oh, there's that as well, but I thought I'd wait for the file to arrive. I do hate spoiling surprises."
Old Roland would never have been so forthcoming. Old Roland was a mark, due to his lack of trust. Old Roland was long gone, due to the tyranny of humanity. It was the first time that the Sanctuary felt like its namesake. He listened to her answer, mutually agreeable about Slate and his existence or lack thereof. This one thing they had in common seemed to bridge the gap somewhat. Roland nodded in assent as he stepped past her and into the hallway, cigarette hanging from his lip as he spoke.
"A Jameson straight up would be lovely. I haven't had liquor in.." A few days? Surely not. Maybe that was why he felt like a sweaty chalkboard. "..hmm, well long enough not to recall, so let's fix that." He waited to see where she led him, reflecting that which he had been told. "No more Kabal, huh? Well, I have seen many an organization slip away, though I am glad to see the Order alive and kicking." He waited for Lenna to begin the journey toward an office and the warm love of good whiskey.
"Well, generally my work speaks for itself. I have not received a mission which I have not completed. I enjoy my work, it keeps me busy." Idle hands for Roland generally meant someone wasn't coming home for Christmas. Optimism wasn't a thing that he recognized other than a word in the dictionary. Satisfaction, yes. Perhaps anticipation. Optimism was a paper bag, freshly wet on the bottom.
Roland's face turned up at the recognition. The sarcasm was just a chaser to the shot to his ego. That pleasant face quickly went slack and deadpan once Slate was mentioned, however. The fact that this one knew that one turned some alarm dials in the man's mind. Not to 11, mind you. "Slate. You know that little twerp, too? I worked for him, but I suspect you know that. Slate never seemed the type to advertise his presence, so you must be in the fold as well. Welcome." Since pun jabs were allowed, why not?
"I would have killed the little shit, but he did save me from that sweatbox in Colombia. I'm not totally unfair." Roland still was not sure who he was talking to, though he was sure that she had as much info as anyone of high importance might. She wasn't Tyranny, but she surely had something similar going on. "I'm not much of a hair expert, but you do seem more stable. You also seem to have a similar talent to her. I thought those of our kind generally had unique genetic expressions. I've been away a while, though."
Question and answer seemed to be going well, so he pushed further, considering the Lenna's openness thus far. "If you can get Lisa to give you files and have the information that you do, I must guess that you are someone in charge of the Sanctuary and at least Faust's assistant." He let that title sink for a moment, but just like a hook with a bobber attached on the surface, jerked it back for enticement. " Or are you her replacement?"
Sometimes one could tell when another was not incredibly pleased with them. Posture, words, looks. Roland had no particular emotional reaction to this, though he liked it better when girls were attracted to him. Made sense, really.
"Lenna. A pleasure." While not reaching to kiss any hands, he did make his own gesture by removing his hands from his pockets, primarily to pull and light another cigarette. His hand opened as he waited for the lighter to appear. It did not. Roland seemed to look at his palm in an odd fashion, like a bird examining a thing for its possibility as food. Then reaching in and extracting the lighter, he lit the Dunhill and put it back where it came from.
He had seen this before a few times, though it never had a name. The first thing that came to mind was the hit woman he had met named Tyranny. The girl before him wasn't Tyranny, though he had a different face once himself. "I'm most definitely wanted. Primarily by INTERPOL, though I suspect the NYPD's Mutant division would like to get their hands on me as well. Not to mention some X's, some costumed vigilantes, hitmen, well, you know the drill, right? Duskmoor alone could probably fetch a high price on the bounty circuit. I don't think the Sanctuary keeps too many jaywalkers."
Taking another long draw and keeping his eyes on her, the question came to mind. " You aren't Tyranny in disguise, are you?"
Posted by Roland on Dec 11, 2013 21:07:52 GMT -6
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Roland had certainly seen women since his self release from custody, but he still found it stimulating to be in the presence of one in close quarters. Especially one who was clearly fit. His eyes gave little quarter in their sweep while his mind chewed the gristle free from her own words.
The first inferred she was either an overseer or caretaker of residents, the second reduced it to overseer. Her own knowledge of the entrance aided in the first inference. This was either a member in long standing or someone of importance at the Sanctuary, perhaps even in the Order. Regardless, his gaze eventually settled back on her own. "That was me. So yes, I do know something about it. I've been away for a while and walking through the golden doors might not be the wisest path."
Her own caution and care in her words and posture gave Roland the thought that he might stand as well. Should she be someone of importance, the least he could do would be to speak to her properly. He rose from his seated position and placed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Do you have a name as well?" His eyes floated beyond her stance in an attempt to perceive backup. If she didn't require any for a potential security breach, she might be just his cup of tea.
"Frankly, I was surprised that you weren't Duskmoor, nosing about and sighing." A slim and unpracticed grin opened slightly. They were all friends here, right?
Trails of smoke traced from Roland's nostrils as he stared at the carpet beneath his feet. How long had it been that such a thing could be enjoyed? Tile and concrete were the usual thing underfoot. Certainly not with bare feet. A stray ash fell next to his pinky, igniting a reaction of movement in the digit. The sensation was so simple and luxurious that it gave the killer pause. Freedom was rarely so palpable, akin to silence.
Of course, both were fleeting. Roland could hear voices and footsteps making their way toward him. It wasn't some preternatural sense telling him this. Many days had passed for him where footsteps brought food or punishment. Standing, he looked at the door, his body turning in an aggressive posture. He had the cigarette to start the show, if nothing else. Realization flashed cross his features at his error. Even if no one knew him, Lisa at least could vouch for him. There was nothing to fear here. He was in Sanctuary, after all.
Turning toward the bathroom, Roland walked in and wet the burning end of his cigarette beneath the faucet's flow. The knock came and he dropped the used carcinogen into the wastebasket. Looking into the reflection once more, he simply said, "Here we go." Turning again, he strode to the door as if it was his room and he had been there for years. Pulling it open, a fresh faced girl met his vision, her query still on pursed lips. "No one in particular.", he answered, turning his back to her and taking a seat back on the bed.
Turning his burning blue gaze back to her, he offered what he could.
"I am Roland Pruitt. I imagine you have some questions for me."
Posted by Roland on Dec 7, 2013 17:23:06 GMT -6
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The deco had been updated. At least since he had been there. Anything beat his many accommodations over the years he had been gone. Roland believed that he would be able to lounge in some segregation unit in a supermax, but INTERPOL had different ideas. The shower hissed to life as he stepped inside, his clothes in a wad in the corner of the bathroom. Unlike the man that had been here before, with his perfectly pressed existence.
Hot water streamed over the man's body, a canvas of bullet and knife wounds. The soap was applied and scrubbed, though he knew that no amount of washing would ever get him clean. At least no one was watching him as he showered. The silence was golden. Stepping out, Roland stretched out a symphony of pops and cracks before seeing himself in the mirror. The steam had not entirely clouded the glass and the dark band of leathery skin, formerly known as his neck, was very clear in the mirror. A sigh left his lips as he gingerly examined it with his fingers. Being collared for long periods did that. Humans with power did that.
Sliding into the black jeans he had worn for the last two weeks seemed to clash with the cleanliness of his body, but he didn't have anything else. It had been nothing but his covert skills for him to make it back to where he had begun. The wifebeater and the ragged boxers were dropped in the trashcan, a long sleeved dark blue shirt being buttoned up in the absence of the filthy underclothes. The steam kept his stink in the air, but he could just leave it behind, as he often had done with many filthy things.
Roland suspected someone would come to greet him, but he had no idea who it would be. The tenants and the management shifted so much in the Sanctuary that the very moniker the group held with pride seemed an oxymoron. Order. Somewhere, there was, he imagined. Taking a seat on the bed provided, he searched his jeans for the Dunhill Internationals. He had saved them until he arrived, the clear cellophane being carefully removed as he took one of the cigarettes out. No lighter, however. Looking around, he could see his Zippo on the sink in the bathroom. His palm opened and it appeared there. A click, a strike and a click brought the sweet draw of tobacco smoke into Roland's lungs.
The grating sound of metal on concrete echoed through the sewers, daylight piercing the relative darkness below. The muggy, organic smell rose through the opening as a figure moved into the shaft. Roland braced himself against the rungs as he slid the cover back into place with a heavy thud, silence and solitude returning. Hand over hand, he descended into the tunnels near the subterranean access of the Sanctuary.
The tunnel looked dingy and out of service. He couldn't be sure that the entrance would still be there, but after the long road home, he would probably do as well in the darkness with the vermin. None of them were seeking his head. Even if they were, they were honest about their intentions. His long fingers traced against the slimy bricks, seeking the familiar turn into a seeming dead end. Once found, the right pressure in the right places would allow for entry. The familiarity reminded him of Alexandra.
A well lubricated slide of metal moved behind Roland , once he had stepped through the threshold. There was little doubt that his presence had been detected, but the years he had spent in prison, be it one with walls or not, made him less concerned about whether or not he was being watched. He just assumed that he was always under surveillance and it made things easier. At the moment, a hot shower was his first interest.
The halls seemed familiar in a nonspecific way. Dark and empty. It was a stark contrast to the life he had led, a number and someone on your back all day. He could remember how much he had once adored silence, as unnerving as it had become. Once in the dormitory area, Roland began a schedule of knocks and slight openings of doors to find an empty berth. As it had been before, the Sanctuary seemed underpopulated. An empty room came soon and the door was closed behind.
No texts needed as it soon became obvious, be it by sight or murmur, that many of the heavy hitters were gathering in the foyer. Word spread through the Sanctuary like Mad Dog did down at the train yards. Especially when money was being discussed. As Roland rode the elevator, he thought of many things that were changing and yet remained very similar. The darker band of flesh around his neck; a grim reminder of the pompous nature of the human race, itched slightly. It now also reminded him of why he had escaped custody to return to his home.
Strength in numbers. Yes. Strength in mutant numbers. Hell Yes.
He had passed through the elevator's threshold in time to hear the big red machine talk about Knox. He hadn't been around for that job, but it sounded like a real blast. Maybe akin to Romania. The smell of Alexandra's hair floated through his nostrils, an ephemeral vapor. Closing his eyes in bliss briefly, he listened to this egghead blather on and prepare to take notes. Was it amateur hour? Perhaps a near fatal dose of carbon monoxide was causing them all to be hypoxic and delusional. Whatever the case, in his jeans and wifebeater, Roland sized up the visitor before adding his own two bits. His gait relaxed, the thief casually strolled around to the man's flank, looking now at the assembled cast from the same viewpoint.
No guns, but a single metallic box cutter slid into Roland's back pocket. More than likely, weapons would be offered up easily. Addressing each with a look or nod, except in Duskmoor's case. She was completely passed over.
"Before anyone starts giving this guy any more information, I suggest we frisk him. Anyone done that? If this guy is a Fed, well, he dies of course. However, should he be wearing a wire, things could become unpleasant. So, maybe we'll get some information from you first, Sir." His eyes focused on the brazen recorder of secrets.
"But first,"his eyes scanning the interior of the room. ,"pick a wall. I'm sure you know the drill."
