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.
I like the X men being with the police. But it always feels weird, haha. You're either a straightlaced X man, or you're chugging from your flask at work and going after jaywalkers.
Haha, the mansion and xmen should stay together, I think. I think the kids need more explosions and mansion fires, personally. And stealing jets and wandering into locked danger rooms that were unlocked because someone forgot. And maybe forgot their flask.
I do however think it's a great plot for discussion about the place in the police for the X men as well as the mutant related crimes division. Since most mrc cops are inactive, it's not really a huge deal, but they feel like those two might go hand in hand. At the very least, the mutant human division will cause rifts within the police as well as the X men. And rifts between the police and the xmen. Perfect time to have players have their characters consider what these things mean to them! I know if I bring in a mrc cop as a second they'll be considering this very much.
I like Sarah's idea of tying the art show in with this plot. They definitely can line up side by side. I can see that working well.
Down, but not out. How was the guy still moving? Oh well. Elliott flipped back onto his feet, then dusted himself off. It was time to just end it already. Somehow he'd thought the battering ram kick and punch would have, but some mutants are just too strong to live.
Elliott walked over to the guy with the glasses and nabbed the TASER from him. He was injured. A wound to the foot. He yelled something about aliens, so Elliott figured he was crazy enough to call an ambulance for, but no real threat without his electric stun gun. He'd taken that. "You done, champ?" He asked him. "We can call you an ambulance."
The fight went out of alien hunter man. He'd lost his phaser. Set no phasers to stunned. "Yeah." He said. "I'll find you later but tonight, we're done."
Elliott really didn't like the sound of that, but he did not press it. He turned back towards mountain man and the bar just in time to catch a question directed towards him. What kind of evils was he into? Was that some sort of seven deadly sins question? It wasn't what he had been expecting at all, so he didn't answer it with words. He let actions speak. Elliott jabbed the guy with the shocking end of the stun gun, and sent a surge of electricity through him. He did it twice more, for good measure. This time, the mountain twitched and foamed at the mouth, then went unconscious. He didn't get up. He stayed down like a good fallen mountain. The TASER made its way into his pocket for later. Three times may have been gratuitous, but it was worth it.
Elliott bent to check the mountain's pulse, and made a show of taking his wallet while he was down there. He waved the wallet toward the bar, and said "Drinks are on him. Order whatever you want, Val! And no lite beer this time, old man. I'm watching you." He pointed at the barkeep with all two of his fingers, then brought the two fingers up to point at his eyes, doing the visual pantomime of 'watching you'. When he reached the bar, the green man sat down next to her and slapped the wallet in front of him on the countertop. "You're a good fighter, too. Those crystal wings are neat!" He laughed.
What was this guy made of to survive a Taser dart to the neck and get back up without concern? They would need to hit him with much more than 10,000 volts of electricity. Or maybe a shotgun the the knee.
On he came, like a big dumb rhino charging. Whoever he was mad at, Elliott didn't want to be in his way. He owed it to everyone to end this, though. Wait, hold on. He didn't owe anyone jack!
As the guy ran in a straight line, Elliott dropped to the floor and started spinning on his hands while doing a handstand, gathering momentum. Capoeira style. The guy was so thick he didn't even notice it. He just gave Elliott all the time in the world and let him spin with it.
Valkyrie hit one side of the fools head with a punch. A split second later, Elliott's boot connected with the other side as his handstand spin kick landed. Brutally.
Elliott stayed there for a moment, balanced on his hands. All he could comment was "Not quite a knuckle sandwich. I give it 9/10." The comment sounded freaking weird coming from the floor. The bartender had to laugh.
Punch, crash, ow. Her punch had not gone the way she had wanted it to go, at all. Glasses guy was screaming. Big guy was falling. And Elliott had a bird's eye view from his perch on the stool. In a perfect world, he'd have done a flip and landed in front of the guy, focusing a downwards kick on the crown of the guy's head. But such acrobatic feats were beyond him in the confines of the bar. The ceiling was too low, dammit. He settled for stepping down from his stool. He followed that impressive maneuver up with an attack.
He had said he would help her. Help her, he did. They were in a pile. He kicked the sides of the mountain until the heap of flesh loosened his grip on everyone he was piled on and untangled himself enough to turn on him and throw a punch. He kicked the fist as he sidestepped it, and followed it up by grabbing a bar stool of his own.
The bar stool hit the guy in the side and sent him falling away from the pile. He landed heavy. There was no other way he could have landed. The bar stool wasn't broken, but he sure was. "Broke a rib," he muttered, clutching his side.
"I'll break more than that before the night is over," Elliott replied coldly.
Beneath Valkyrie, glasses guy had found his stun gun. He hauled it out and aimed it awkwardly through the tangle of hair and limbs, away from her, at the green man who still had not given him his data. He would PAY for it. He would be kidnapped and dissected and experimented upon, in that order, or maybe something else. He hadn't gotten that far yet, he was still focused on ALIENS. The TASER wobbled in his grip as he lined up the shot, and then--- He fired!!!
Elliott didn't move one inch from where he was standing. If he had, he would have stepped into the path of the TASER wires. Two electric wires shot from the end of the TASER, missed Elliott by inches, and hit the mountain man on his neck. There was a brief buzz of electricity that sounded like 'bzzzt!', and then his lights went out. He hit the ground with yet another thud that rattled glasses and bottles all over the room. Elliott turned to stare at stun gun guy... just in time to see him try to flail at the girl on top of him with the blunt end of his TASER.
And suddenly, it was raining in the bar. Not men, thank goodness. And not rain. Crystals. The mountain man screamed something rude and unintelligible (for censorship reasons) as the pain lanced through him. His entire body rocked back and forth as he clutched at his leg. His face was bleeding on his right cheek from a scratch that ran across it horizontally. A crystal had hit a bottle and shattered it. The shrapnel had got him under his eye, and a finger of blood ran down it into his ruddy beard.
As the crystals had started to fly, Elliott had sprung from his bar stool and landed on top of it, then turned to drive an upward kick at glasses guy's face. The crystal through the foot had pinned him, ow. When he toppled backwards, his foot stayed in one place. He landed in an awkward pile of duster and man. The leg sprang up as the crystal dislodged itself from the floor. For all the pain he was in, his first breathless word as he opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling was "Fascinating!" Elliott stared down at him in disgust.
Pain wasn't completely debilitating for Mr. Large, angry, and creepy. He stomped his leg down in a fury, and wheeled on her. His fingers caught the edge of the bar stool in front of him. A dumb man would have pulled the crystal shard free of the calf, and started the calf to bleeding. He'd chosen a wiser, if stupider, course. Hospitals and apologies would have been best. Throwing the bar stool at a girl with crystal wings in the hopes of hurting her was not. At least he seemed tough enough to handle the injury without instantly fainting. Maybe he had some sort of bullheaded battle rage mutation?
"All you mutants are actually ALIENS!!!" Glasses guy sang from the floor, in the hopes he would not be forgotten. His hand fumbled with something in an inner pocket of the duster.
Behind the bar, the barkeep was still polishing his glass, though from a safer location. And next to a shotgun spread across the counter. He glanced at it from time to time, importantly, but this was a seedy joint. Folks needed to handle their own fights. The second it became too expensive of a problem, he would start shooting. That, he hoped, would be conveyed by his course of action. He definitely had a mutation that let him tank hits. The shrapnel hadn't even touched his skin. He'd just gotten dark, like obsidian. He wasn't the owner. The owner in the back room was busy swimming in his fish tank, and thus had not heard a thing.
He had hit the guy and knocked him out cold with a frying pan. How do you apologize for that? "I'm sorry, man. We couldn't calm you down. It was just the right thing to do"? No. Even if he tried it out loud, it sounded stupid. Generally, 'the right thing to do' statements are.
Because Elliott had not wanted to deal with the lame apology, he had not yet been by. He knew the wolf man had healed. It was hard to hear from Doc Prof that Tyson still had not recovered from the mental dissonance caused by becoming the beast. He had tried meditation with Tyson a few times, to help him cope with it, but the increased senses, the feral nature of his mutation, and the enhanced abilities had just forced up against the guy's mental walls like a tidal wave, and no amount of levies and sand bags could prevent the water from getting through.
If Tyson wanted to learn to be himself, he probably had to accept what he was. That was the Zen opinion on it. You cannot achieve inner peace and balance by denying yourself. Even outside of the realm of meditation and spiritual dogma, that was a bad idea. Psychiatrists always had field days with that. To achieve balance. To achieve good mental health. Tyson would need to balance the beast and the man.
Elliott had never read The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He wasn't the most literary guy. Mostly, he stuck to the science fiction and non-fiction scientific theory stuff, because it interested him. Darwin, Carl Sagan, Asimov, etc. He had heard about the book, though. There was something there. Probably in a similar vein to the Moby Dick / Ahab metaphor about chasing something so far that you lose yourself in the chase. Fighting inner demons, maybe? The battle between good and evil in Man? He wasn't Man. He didn't fully understand that. But he knew someone might.
He didn't know if he would be the first person to visit Tyson that day, but he went anyways. The sight of Tyson pawing at the ground and pacing, like a dog in a cage, pained him. Elliott didn't have a good history of keeping friends. Sure, he could make them. Sure, he could have them. Acquaintances, contacts, and girlfriends. But it didn't always last long. Something. Some paranoia or some job would distance him from them. Even the crew he'd run with before New York had ran from him, and he hadn't followed. They'd never said they were leaving because of him. That wasn't fair to him, he knew. Some part of him questioned it in bad moments of self consciousness, and that part of him was wondering right now if he'd fouled up another relationship.
Elliott came into the infirmary holding cells area. He set down the boombox and hit play. That song that had been playing the first time he'd run into Tyson, a song by Steam Powered Giraffe, began playing. Maybe it wasn't the exact song. Maybe it was one of their others. He wasn't so sentimental he'd remember the exact first song that he'd heard when he'd met the guy. He wasn't a chick. But it'd probably sound similar. Hopefully, the sounds would remind Tyson of himself. And if not, it was a freaking song, and he could deal with it. And maybe it would lessen the amount of background noise that could drive a wolf man crazy, if only he would focus on it. And if that didn't work, he had some books on tape like The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, because he was feeling way too thoughtful for his own good. That way, there be dragons. That way was dangerous. Whatever. It was The Stars. A song about adventure and new frontiers. And maybe, friends, if you read into that song too much. Hearty crews. Not giving up, even during combat, wearing our best smiles, so the enemy is put off, and... And, of course, stars.
((OOC: And Starlight Star-shine can play next, if you want, because it's also nice, even if this one is way more awkward and sentimental. Cough cough cough. Like you'd play to some ex-girlfriend. Elliott would be embarrassed as heck. But it does fit with losing a friend, so yeah. Or someone can turn off the boom box. Maybe Elliott. After the first six seconds. ))
"Seriously, information..." The guy whined. God, he was nasally and annoying. He wasn't the first alien hunter, and he certainly wouldn't be the last, but he currently held the record for worst breath.
Elliott sighed. He looked away. His eyes settled on the situation between wing-girl and the mountain that drinks, and their little exchange. If he had had eyebrows, they would have been raised. Instead, he blinked both sets of eyelids, one after the other, in rapid succession.
The question for why one does anything is quite a good one. Why does one do anything? And just what really is the good in it all? Motivation was always a factor, and this guy's motivations were, shall we say, crap? 'Why do this,' she had asked. His reply was "You're pretty." And it sounded just as stupid out loud as if someone had written it and gotten someone to read it to give them an opinion on the stupidity of a statement in printed form. It was such a stupid comment, Elliott simply couldn't stop from insinuating himself upon the conversation.
"You realize she's too young to drink here, right?" He asked incredulously. Which meant she was too young for grown men to be buying her drinks because she was pretty. Him buying her a drink because he was being polite and rewarding the bad habit of someone sticking their neck out for someone was an entirely different situation than the big guy buying a young girl a drink because she was 'pretty'. He felt everyone here ought to know.
"You need to shut up and stop getting in my way," Big guy grunted with a grimace.
Elliott felt a vein twitch in his forehead. He looked to the girl. "Hey, Val." He got her attention. "That offer from earlier." He said boldly. "You want help hurt him? I'll help."
Glasses guy dropped his jaw so far he gained a second jaw, and it looked as weak as the first. He really didn't want his alien friend getting hurt. He had half a mind to whip out his phaser, but he'd see where this went before he starting popping people with it set to stun.
She was a newly minted mutant who did not know what she could do, and was likely afraid of people learning about it. She wanted her privacy, and who was he to judge? He liked his privacy, too.
The professor was good people. He'd help her out. A ride could certainly be arranged. Heck, she might even get him to drive her home. Elliott didn't add anything about that. He hadn't thought of it. The professor surely would. She was in good hands.
He waved back at her as she walked away, and then stuffed his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and stalked off to his evil lair. His room.
((OOC: You're very welcome. It was fun! See you around!))
"Oh, that's a good idea," Elliott exclaimed. Already, his mind was latching onto it like a drowning man to driftwood. So much potential, and so many possibilities. "I'd have to look into techniques for that in meditation. Some yogis can block out or focus pain, and have greater control of their bodies. They can walk on hot coals and temporarily break bones and connections to achieve flexibility many wouldn't think was possible. For us, we may just have to settle for blindfolds and earplugs."
That was one option. Elliott talked for a minute about things they could do to lessen input. The field, for example, was full of distractions, but a dark room with less going on might be better. Or incense so you have one focus scent. Stuff like that. He asked Tyson if he had ever heard of sensory deprivation and if maybe there was some sort of room at the mansion that might be a good place for that?
A room with virtual reality of something. Maybe a danger room? He didn't say danger room. That was something someone may have heard of however.
When she exclaimed 'no!', both men looked up at her. They were watching them both now, and didn't seem to care if they were noticed. Maybe they even noticed each other. Was that a subtle nod? Elliott didn't notice that. He was focused on the dark-eyed girl who so emphatically wanted to fight the biggest guy. For all her bravado, she still couldn't handle a beer. No, he did not smile at that. He did smile at the bravado, though.
"It's true what they say," he chuckled. "You can't tell strength by appearance. It goes both ways, you know?" He wasn't chuckling TOO hard, though. He didn't want to insult her. "If it comes to that, you could probably take him." He hedged. "But I don't think," he started, jinxing them both. The fact that he had started saying it meant they pretty much had to throw down now.
Chair legs scraped against the floor as the biggest man rose. He was a mountain, now that you could see all of him, and he walked right towards them. He leaned against the counter, and caught the bartender's attention. He held up two fingers. "Jameson, rocks. For me." He jabbed a thumb at Valkyrie. "And her."
Okay... That was weird. Elliott stared at the guy. And then the trench coat in the duster came up on them on his other side and put a hand around his shoulder like they were old friends. "Aliens," he said breathlessly. "Tell me about your people."
"Tell me about your whiskey breath and how we don't put our arms around complete strangers, guy." Elliott shot back. He brushed at the man's arm, and dusted his shoulder off.
"I need your data!" Glasses guy rose his voice. Elliott blinked his extra set of eyelids, momentarily revealing blue eyes. Red returned with a vengeance.
The accent sounded French. The girl looked French. She looked different enough not to be human, but she looked French. Also, young enough not to have a real drink, and too young to be offering help hurting people in bars. Elliott found himself smiling a half-amused crooked zipper smile. "I don't even know him," he said lightly, and added "I don't know you, either. Names October."
Elliott held up a hand to get the barkeeps attention. He wanted to say 'a glass of wine for the French bird'. He said "a glass of wine for the French girl," instead. That's called tact. A lot of mutants are sensitive about what they're called. A lot of French birds are, too. Women, as a rule, should be treated with respect. Even though this one was not a woman, he offered the courtesy.
The bartender cracked a bottle of some sort of light beer, and offered her that. The bottle clacked against the counter in front of her and the barkeep met her eyes for a second them turned away with a grunt to polish some glasses with an old rag.
The bottle was probably better beer than the swamp-water swill on tap. A fine courtesy.
Elliott smirked. "A fine vintage," he said wryly. "Thanks for the offer., by the way." The offer to hurt someone. There are many reasons people will stick their necks out for others, but not many who would. He felt like she wanted something. She looked young enough that liquor might be a good guess. If not, it was always a nice gift. Who knew? Maybe she just wanted a bar room blitz?
He glanced at the guy again. Maybe there was muscle underneath the big black flowing coat? Glasses types with dark hair in long flowing coats could definitely be the types to pick fights then knife you and leave you in a dumpster. Big and tall. Duster could definitely be hiding a hero. Or maybe... Huh. A guy sitting just a hair to the right matched his body motions and description, except beefier. He was also looking Elliott's way. Or maybe the girls way. He gave off a dangerous aura.
"Seems like we both have stalker problems." Elliott commented casually. "If they start something, want to trade?"
For some reason, he felt he'd have better luck than her against the thug.
He felt eyes watching him some time after the first drink. After the second, he knew someone was watching him. It wasn't until the third that he started contemplating what he would do about it.
Jack and Coke. Second had been a glass of Jameson. Third? Red bull and vodka. Now he was buzzing.
He didn't usually get to drink alcohol at bars. Connections had led him here. Shady place. Didn't care to ID. Those that told police usually weren't seen at the establishment again. Fun crowd. Owner had a mutation that was a cross between cod fish and cod piece, and he didn't know what to say about that.
He scanned the crowd to see who was staring, carefully passing it off as if he was just glancing around, checking his watch, and the reflection in the mirror. When you're looking for the people watching you, look for the people that look away first. He turned and looked at the room. A guy with wild hair dark as dragon glass looked down at the tabletop and his drink. And Bingo was his name.
))