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.
Roland could tell that Isabel either wasn' much for public relations or was just trying to get rid of him. Either way, it was a tad annoying. He had to continue to put on pressure. How to go about it though? He wondered if charm would even affect a measured killer like her. More than likely not. That or finding her alone in the dark might be too dicey a play to bother with. The rest of the interview seemed like a moot point now that he had a name. Mr. King. He had already tracked the financial connections between this Sanctuary and the well known pharmaceutical company. He really just wanted to hear it from a solid source. A hardened insane serial killer? No better source in his books.
He stood abruptly, leaving Ms. Duskmoor sprwaled on the chair. " Well, perhaps I've been speaking to the wrong people, Isabel. I thank you for your time, though."He put his pen in his breast pocket and his note pad in his side pocket. He looked expectantly at the doors, waiting for her or this assistant to open them. he assumed a human might be nervous and would want to run, but he knew when you were in the lions' den, you never, ever ran..
Roland continued his note taking,ensuring that they were both legible and believable should anyone take them. He had to tread lightly here. Coming to the Sanctuary was a bold move, but one he had to do right away. He knew there were other organizations to peruse as well, but best to see what the foxes were up to prior to visiting the hen house. He listened to her talk about the mutant population and continued to wear the boring smile of his illusion. He wondered if she was actually deciding on where to skewer him first.
Isabel seemed to continue to hover over the motive and intent of his interview. He had believed it was a fair enough excuse to get his foot in the door. He knew that if he could avoid the pressure tactics of INTERPOL, he could certainly sidestep this young lady." I believe it to be a valid topic. Especially with the ways that humans and mutants are interacting these days. To have a facility that houses them together is really a social experiment that has not been attempted before. While the initial fanfare and reaction is understandable, it seems very relevant to myself and the Observer to follow up the progress of such an experiment."
He decided to fire a few servos of his own." this brings me to some questions. Is the government involved in regulation of this place? Most shelters, even the ones that are wholly supported by donation, are still monitored by the Government. Do you have a rehabilitative program that seeks to help these people, regardless of their genetic background, to become independent and leave the Sanctuary? Also, who provides the funding here? Somewhere along the line, the taxpayers, human and mutant alike, will have to share the burden, so it is best to find who indeed they are supporting."
He put his fake smile back on, his pencil floating over the paper in wait for her answers.
She seemed welcoming enough, though Roland knew better than to turn his back on her. Not that his front was any safer. He had decided not to bring any type of weapon, as it didn't fit the disguise nor would it do well for him to be picked up on any kind of metal detector. With Isabel's record, he probably would come out healthier not showing any aggression. It was always hard to tell with sociopaths.
He walked into the foyer, also ridiculously lavish for a homeless shelter, linking eyes with the young lady behind the reception desk. He smiled and nodded in a sickeningly friendly way. He took a seat across from Isabel, taking his pen and pad out and crossing his leg over his knee. He reached over and turned a lamp on nearby for light so he could make proper fake notes. Isabel had a very good question about the nature of his interview. She mentioned that the Sanctuary had been open for around a year. One fact down. How many more?
" Well, miss, the Observer has been delving into a series recently about the growing visible mutant population since the Registration Camps were disbanded after the historic repeal of the Registration Act. Considering the Sanctuary has a growing reputation for harboring many of these newly emancipated mutants, the Observer saw it as a great possibility for a 'jumping off' point for our series. By the way, what is your name, Miss?" The line was out in the water, the bait set. Now to wait for bites. Hopefully not any kind that would draw Roland's blood.
Roland waited for a few moments after the small knock had seemed to create quite the reverberation. The doors did open though and if he hadn't bee a practiced criminal with icy nerves he may have turned and ran for his life. The clothing of the young lady in front of him was whimsical and almost seemed like a costume for this day and age. The bow in her hair and that sickly sweet face. Anyone with any knowledge of the criminal world or dangerous mutants knew who this was. The NYPD certainly did, as she was on their big list for killing many of their boys in blue. He was standing mere feet from Isabel Duskmoor. Time to play pretend.
He extended his hand. " Good day, miss. My name is Charles Fairweather. I am from the New Jersey Observer, an up and coming newspaper. I was sent by my editor to get a story about the Sanctuary and possibly get some interviews. Would you like to give me one?" He attempted his most believable worried look, one that never passed his features normally. He looked behind her in an inquisitive fashion, seeing an administrative assistant at the desk. He smiled at her briefly before returning his eyes to the mutant murderess.
Roland had spent the night previous searching the Internet as if he were a young mutant looking for a home or work. He had found many sympathetic ears in chat and had heard of two distinct common names, the Mansion and the Sanctuary. The school had a website, though a choppy one. Since it seemed to be a legitimate school, he would have to dream up a legitimate reason to go there. The Sanctuary seemed to be less restrictive.
He picked up some stationery and pens from an office supply company and picked up a fake PRESS ID with his imaginary paper, The New Jersey Observer, emblazoned on it. IDs were all the rage lately due to identity theft. Roland still used many of his old contacts using the names of still other ones to fool them into believing he knew them. His stories were rarely sketchy, though his manner usually always was.
He considered at first just walking up but considered his story of coming from New Jersey, so he pulled up outside the Sanctuary in a newly stolen Yugo. Nice and compact. Poor looking. He walked up to the golden doors, chuckling a bit considering they were so out of place for a shelter. He didn't see any kind of buzzer or intercom, so he knocked. He put his fake glasses on to accentuate the disguise of khaki slacks and an old blazer over a wrinkled white button up.
Arriving at an exclusive hotel on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, Roland paid the driver and stepped out, walking towards the grand entrance and the doorman, who was rightfully kowtowing and greeting, waiting for a tip he hadn't earned. Roland breezed into the lobby and walked up to the concierge. Donning his practiced American accent-less accent and pulling one of his wallets from his pocket, he stepped up to the desk. A young woman, polished and equally practiced at hiding things greeted him with the wonderfully artificial enthusiasm that her position demanded.
" Hello. Raymond Jennings. I have a reservation and some packages." He dropped the proper identification and a crisp hundred in front of the clerk.The extra cash helped her enthusiasm become slightly more genuine. Her eyes flashed with greed, wondering if there was more to be had. Roland seemed to read her mind, adding, "There may be more for you if you could step up the pace a bit, dear."
It was more than enough to motivate the young woman. She quickly started nodding and smiling, returning Roland's ID and having the packages brought around. She wished to escort Roland personally to his suite, which suited him well. As they headed up the elevator, she made several veiled attempts at innuendo. Roland would be sure to pay her well for all of her services, he assured her. He started to wonder if the chiseled good looks that the Korean had given him really made much difference when he had money.
By the time the various crates and packages were delivered, the clerk had already brewed some coffee as Roland sat idly by watching. He paid all of the handlers well and then dismissed them. The clerk served him his coffee and stood patiently waiting for her tip. Roland eyed her and placed five hundred dollar bills on the table. She seemed to hesitate and then leaned over, picking it up, lingering long enough to give him an eyeful. "Was there anything else you wanted , Sir?", she said, a sly grin on her face. "Only what you'd like to offer, dear." Her blazer and blouse came off with practiced efficiency and speed. If only everyone was so efficient.
Grand Central Station. A bustling hub of activity. People coming and going to and from work or wherever. Among the many faces there was one waiting and watching. A new face, created by a master plastic surgeon from Korea whose work was immaculate and costly. The surgeon shared something else with the new face that watched the crowd. Mutation. The surgeon was so expensive due to her country's stance on mutants and the fact that her mutation could change your face. She could put her hands on your face and move the skin and even skull around to fit whatever prototype you paid for.
Roland knew it was money well spent. He had been hesitant to come here, to the main stage of mutant activity. He knew if he was going to be any type of real player in any games of worth though, this was the place to play. This location had a material necessity as well. His fingers slid into his coat pocket and pulled a small key out. His contacts overseas had left him this key for his arrival in America.
He made his way down the stairs and walked to the locker in question. He had waited for a distraction, in this case, a group of Eco-protesters doing a sit in near the main terminal. Something about X-rays being evil. Whatever moved security away from him. He opened the locker and found a nice cache. A paper bag containing passports, IDs and even an NY PD badge. The badge must have been a present. There was also a nice bundle of cash inside, around ten thousand dollars. More than enough to start.
He put the key inside the locker and closed it, placing the empty bag under his arm. The money was securely fitted into his money belt, with a small portion in a gold money clip in his pocket. The IDs were already in his wallets, three of them. One in his back pocket, one in his interior breast pocket with the badge, and one in his side pocket.
He made his way out of the station, inhaling the grime and grit of the city. His eyes panned the crowd. It was habit, but no one would be looking for him. It was a nice change of events. He hailed a taxi and stepped in, directing the driver to his next location. Cache number two.
Character's full name: Roland Everett Pruitt Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: His official code name was Vagabond with the Order. I imagine there are several "aliases and nicknames" given him by those he has encountered. Gender: Male Age: 40 Date of Birth: 09/06/1975 Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: England, town unknown Nationality: British Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: Caucasian
Appearance
Hair color and style: Black, a slight curl and proper. Naturally. Dyes and styles applied as needed, otherwise. Skin Tone: Light skinned, due to mostly nocturnal activity. Eye Color: Sky blue. Height: 5' 10 Build: Lean, muscular due to all that yard time on hiatus. Visible mutation: Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: Several, but none that can be readily seen. Some old bullet scars, a knife or two. Keepsakes from jobs gone bad. Also a semi permanent ring around the neck from long term collaring. Other features: Everyday clothing style: Costumes, costumes, costumes! A new name and a new face need not be purchased or manipulated. Just visit Party City! Uniform: Whatever the boss gives him. Sleepwear: None. Miscellaneous clothing:
Character
Personality: Confident, charismatic, shrewd. Roland has found that many things can be taken without the use of his ability. People in white like to label him as a sociopath, but this is clearly an erroneous judgment. Hobbies/ Interests: Spending days observing a target and planning their demise. Also enjoys golfing. Collecting spoils from his heists, be they inanimate or not so much. Job or part time job and description: Thief, assassin, thug, and any number of other paying roles. Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Roland is overconfident to a fault. He will rarely assume blame for any problem or mistake, preferring to pin it on a teammate or some random person. It can never be Roland's fault. He is a sociopath and a sexist megalomaniac. Special talents: Piloting various modes of transportation, electronics, computers, subterfuge, intimidation, stealth, acrobatics, and disguise Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other: Being a sociopath, Roland generally sees people as obstacles. In a general way, this makes him very bad, as people stop being humans or mutants, instead becoming mere obstacles to be bypassed or destroyed.
Mutations
Mutation description:
Inorganic Teleportation: Roland can teleport non-organic matter from one place to another. Anything small enough to fit on his person is generally unnoticed due to his practice of his ability. Outside of the thievery, he can also move the item from place to place, though the destination , if not in his sight, must be somewhere in range that he is intimately familiar with. Roland must spend one hour at the minimum with an item to deem it as familiar, as well as it having to fit in his pockets or a holster. Increasing time spent increases the efficiency and accuracy of these items.
Strengths: Most things in the modern world are made comprised of inorganic material or at least have parts within that are. This makes nearly everything in his sight a tool or a weapon. Also, kinetic energy of thrown items is retained, so a common tactic of Roland's will be to throw an object and teleport it just short of a target, so that the item hits with the full force of the throw.
Weaknesses and Limitations: Organic materials, such as paper, wood, bone and the like, are immune to Roland's manipulation, causing him to work around these obstacles however possible. His hard weight limit is fifty pounds and beyond forty will degrade the accuracy of the teleport. His range is sight, but any obstructions will again degrade the accuracy of the end teleport. If he swallowed, say, a handcuff key, he'd be intimately aware of its location, and capable of getting it back out. While able to teleport a number of objects, fine control is degraded with the number and size of said objects, which must not exceed the aforementioned weight limit in total. Also, multidirectional teleports of two or more objects are rough at best, as this is a feat which must be trained over time.
Overexertion of his mutation, be it number of objects, time between teleports, a sustained duration or any and all combination of these factors will cause an overall decay of accuracy as well as causing Roland mental fatigue. He has never pushed himself to these limits, as planning and simplicity are his allies.
Physical Abilities
General Physical Capabilities:
Roland engages in moderate to intensive regular exercise and while no longer in his prime, remains strong and healthy. His reflexes are at the top of the human spectrum, due to the constant practice with his mutation and his superior marksmanship. His stamina can sometimes be found lacking, due to indulgences such as smoking and drinking. His flexibility is surprising for his age as well, due to a lifetime of being a cat burglar.
Fighting Style: Roland is no thug, but over the years he has gathered several techniques to defend himself long enough to escape. Use of military/security maneuvers, aikido, karate and many other smatterings gleaned either from adversaries, allies, or paid instructors. Fighting Style Pros/Cons: Roland has a comprehensive palette from which to paint violence, allowing him to adapt to a fight as necessary.However, against an expert in any particular style, Roland would be at a disadvantage as the general knowledge of many styles does not offer the time or expertise required to face a master.
History Of Your Character Roland was a pickpocket in the streets of London prior to his ability coming to fruition. He seemed to have a natural talent for relieving others of the things he wanted. The first time his ability manifested, he had seen a jacket in a shop window that he thought would look good on him. He stared at it, the desire for it overwhelming enough that he intended on putting a brick through the window. In fact, he had reached for a nice heavy one and turned to the window to find the jacket was no longer there. That was shock enough until he looked down to see the jacket lying at his feet. He put it on, a bit puzzled at first, but soon realizing that it would be the first of many things he would have.
Roland found work to be easy to get in the criminal underground. He had taken careful care over the years to never allow anyone to know that what he was doing to be a mutant ability. He touted it off as pure skill. The people financing jobs didn't seem to care about how he managed to retrieve items with such ease and efficiency, they just knew that if you wanted something, Roland was the man to call. The only times he had any real trouble was when employers, thinking his skill translated into him being a cop, demanded that others join him or he be part of a crew. The few occasions that any of the other crew members witnessed his ability, he made sure that was the last thing they ever saw if he couldn't explain it away.
Eventually, Roland found himself extraordinarily wealthy and immersed among a web of contacts. He found that having so many people know of him and his exploits made any maneuvering difficult at best, if not impossible. Not satisfied with the easy life he could have claimed, he decided to tip off INTERPOL as to his own next job. He waited until he knew they would be close and came out the front door of the museum he had been in, caught red handed as he wanted. He found himself in a cell quickly, his collection all confiscated and all of his assets frozen and seized. He spent several years in prison, using the time to meet a whole new genre of criminal organizations.
During a riot in the facility he had been in, Roland escaped along with some underground contacts. He worked for their organization for a few years, remaining low key and off the radar. Using every bit of money and treasure he could afford, he had his death staged. After that, he disappeared from everyone.
Roland resurfaced some time later, his solo antics causing him to run into various X-Men and Order members. He became a constant thorn in the side of the X's, having purchased a manor a few miles away from the Sister School's property. This was also under a previous disguise that he had used, a skeletal and facial molding done at exorbitant prices by a mutant. Before long, his skills were noticed by Slate of the Kabal and Roland was soon acquired as an asset. This led to global missions which brought him in touch with other various mutants of the time, such as the Giant known as Bacchus and the reality altering Circe. But as most relationships change or sour, so did the one between Slate and Roland. During the Romanian operation, he was captured and collared. An unfortunate side effect of the collaring caused his expensive face lift to fail and Roland's true face was revealed.
With his identity back in the open, Roland had a change of heart. His normally indifferent stance between the humans and the mutants turned into a pointed hatred of the former, as they were the ones, in his mind, that had ruined his life. It was then that he approached Lori Faust to join the Order. He felt that his only allies were those who were his own kind, those who would do anything and kill anyone to make sure that mutants were no longer manipulated by their lessers. As a token of his industrious nature, Roland stole the X-Jet from the Mansion during a Pokemon event on the grounds, landing it on the helipad of Faust Pharmaceuticals. His work from then on as an asset with the Order began to grow.
Unfortunately, he became sidetracked along the way, developing a fixation for an empath known as Kealey Quinn. Roland saw her as weak and a mark, but every time that he attempted to kill her, someone would intervene, which only added to Roland's hit list. She was ultimately saved and Roland diverted by the actions of an X-Man known as Shin. From there, Roland saw a lack of order in the Order, but saw no way to do anything about it, as he felt himself a soldier rather than a leader. Choosing prison and its delights over a fractured world without direction, Roland allowed himself to be arrested by a special division of the NYPD.
Roleplay Where did you learn about this site?: Returning member, originally played now defunct character Garrett Wills aka Seizure. Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: See above. Sample RP:
Work space was cheap. Perhaps it was the times but more than likely it was the general lack of use for an abandoned sweatshop. The sweaty man Roland had dealt with seemed relieved to have someone in it. He had lamented on how many potential tenants had quickly snapped their wallets shut when the history of the space was revealed. Roland had no interest in that sort of thing. It was a large, open space. It had five large windows pointing to the east. It was worth any price. He made sure to sweat the man a little to take the smallest amount of rent. Pocket change.
Now night had come and several cases were arranged on two tables. Roland stood in the room, enjoying the ambient light from the windows and from the HD screen of his laptop. Police records were hard to get into without greasing wheels in person. That meant a face to remember. Rockefeller had been more than enough face time for Roland's liking. He had seen another face though. A face which had something similar to Tyranny. A mercenary with such a trait was one thing, a cop with it was quite another. Media searches of social engagements sponsored by the NYPD was almost as good as a ruffle through file cabinets. Jacen King.
It was something to chew over for a bit. Tonight was a more intimate meeting. One of the cases opened as parts of the sniper rifle began to leave the foam they were impressed in, reappearing in a sequential fashion. The gun assembled itself from the stock to the barrel in Roland's hand. He had felt that he was too lax on the interfering Irish lass. Now that his true quarry had been taken care of, he could return for this tasty little morsel. Personal hits were always so satisfying, even more so than a large bundle of money. The stand appeared on the windowsill as the gun rested in it. As Roland sat, a stool appeared beneath him. A small remote came from his pocket and he started the CD in the small player behind him. Creedence Clearwater Revival began belting out about a bad moon rising. It certainly was for Kealey Quinn, whose antics in her apartment were amusing enough to keep Roland from immediately squeezing the trigger.
