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.
He almost asked what she could do, but she answered for him and he paused. A polar bear? Seriously? That... Kind of stunk as far as powers went. It was cool, sure, in theory. You became a bear and were big and strong. But polar bears are endangered for a reason, and they don't much like the heat of a New York summer. Aside from eating fish, a polar bear didn't have much use on the street. It could box like that one fitting game panda he'd seen once, but... She didn't seem the fight club type. He kept those thoughts to himself.
"That's difficult," he replied. Two bears in one family. That was kind of ridiculous. One would have thought that at least one mutation would have been different. As far as logistics went, polar bears got the bad end of the deal. "Maybe you and Tyson could practice meditation. He could use a second. I'm shocked the mansion doesn't have A legit class for that. Tyson is a wolf man. No tail though. Similar problems. I'm teaching him breathing techniques to cope with mutation related stress."
"I don't have a mutation, really." Elliott shrugged. "But don't tell them that." People tended to think him strange when he said that. He couldn't figure out why. They might kick him out for being too normal.
He had never seen a horse hoofed mutant panther claw girl with scales clock a bloody armored thug in a pixies hoodie, but there was always a first time for everything. It just wasn't a very common first time. Moving on.
The girl rose to her feet, and as she did, lost her balance. Elliott caught her in his arms, dropping the sticks with a metallic clang as he rushed to her side. "Whoa there. Easy," he said soothingly. She was trying to overdo it. They'd been attacking her and she didn't need to rush to her feet so soon. Especially not before she paid for her rescue. He opened his mouth to say something to that effect, but the words froze in his inhuman throat. Her eyes really were blue, even though she'd been crying. He settled for holding her steady until she recovered from her daze.
The sounds of the city went on behind them, completely usual. Nobody had called the police. Ther were no more than the usual amount of sirens on a night in New York. Traffic honked and rumbled, or just stood still. People swore and stumbled. Electricity ran through telephone wires and the ground.
"You saved me," she managed finally. Her eyes fell on the person not too far away, the obvious mutant, and narrowed. " Both of you." Come to think of it, Elliott wasn't normal looking either. She did not seem to care.
Again, he wanted to chime to in something like 'that'll be $20,' but he held it back. Maybe there wasn't good money in rescues after all.
It didn't take much research to learn which room was Tyson's. He had called ahead and checked with mansion staff. He was a friend. They'd been more than happy to help him out. He had been to the mansion several times, and done his fair share of exploring. That meant he wasn't lost when he started searching for the room. A few times, he had come and Tyson hadn't been there. He'd made sure to not waste the trip. Today, he had a good feeling about it.
The day plan was simple. He was going to give Tyson a lesson in meditation. It was a nice New York day, which meant it was sunny with only minor pollution in the air. He'd thought maybe the mansion grounds would be a good place to sit down and relax.
Some kids were out playing. Most weren't. It was a school day. That meant many were in classes. Elliott was always impressed with the whole 'free school, room, and food' thing at the mansion. But not THAT impressed. Other locations did similar things. Though those were largely halfway houses...
He walked through the halls towards Tysons room. Someone appeared ahead of him in a cloud of smoke, running his way. He jarred to a halt, waved, and they both walked around each other. Mutants were rarely predictable. He reached Tyson's room and gave a quick knock. He rattled off a drumbeat, shave and a haircut, and let Tyson either knock off the reply, or open the door. If nobody answered, he'd feel quite the ass.
It would have been incredibly rude if he'd just stood there with his chin held, contemplating the fight and not doing anything. Incredibly rude. Just standing there, one elbow propped on an arm held against his chest, that hand on his chin, keeping his head in place so he could nod, think, nod again, watch. So very rude. Not to do anything. At all. Yep. Which was why he decided to help.
He didn't want to butt in on the woman's fight TOO much. She seemed to be doing alright, minus the shoulder wound and the bleeding. Two on one wasn't really all that fair, and to stand up to that was pretty boss. Blood armor had his bloody blood blade. Flame-boy was cut and screaming. Elliott certainly had a choice of targets. He decided to leave armor to her, since she had a pretty good reason for wanting him down.
It wasn't very far between flame knife and Elliott, and flame knife was focused on his injury, so when the foot came snapping up to get him in the bread basket, he was ill-prepared. He hit brick wall and the fire on his knife winked out. It clattered against the alley bottom and stopped moving. Once Elliott was sure fire knife and green guy and anyone else was unconscious, he turned his attention to panther claw's fight. He'd chip in... if she even needed the help.
Meanwhile, Elliott was fighting a door to door knives salesman. Felt like it, anyways. He kept throwing out new knives and producing more. "It slices! It dices! It, uh, what's that broad's name that means matchstick carrot slices?"
"Julliene's." Elliott said through gritted teeth.
"Nope. Think it's Shirley Temple's." Knife guy replied. "Anywho, here's a butcher knife!!"
And then a great big green claymore was flying through the air at Elliott's head. That wasn't a butcher's knife. Butch. Cassidy. Whatever this guy's name was. He was a bit off his rocker. A few matchsticks short of a julliene cut carrot. The green-skinned mutant ducked under the claymore, into a crouch. A moment later, he launched himself at green-knife guy in a furious springing punch. The uppercut caught the guy's chin and sent him spinning backwards into several hundred pounds of garbage bags by the dumpster. Elliott suppressed the urge to shout 'Shoryuken!' and tore his attention back to the remaining two men. He noticed his mystery helper for the very first time.
When he'd ducked and punched, Elliott had switched one of his sticks to rest in his free hand with the other. He switched that one back to his right hand as he watched the fight for a moment. "That explains why they didn't stab me in the back, then." He stated.
Blood guy paused in his fight with panther girl to shove a blood-armored fist at her chest. As it went, the blood surged forwards to make a blade. The blade looked an awful lot like an Energy Sword from the Halo video game series, but Elliott figured that was just a coincidence rather than copyright infringement. It wasn't blue. It was red. Different.
Heheheh. Obvious mutant. That was always a good joke. He kept a straight face about it, though. Some people and their delusions that everyone who looks funny is a mutant. Some are also from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous, or something like that. Mercury. Venus. That planet men are from. The Moon. It was silly to assume. It just makes an ass of you and me. But he let him believe what he liked. People looked at him funny when he corrected them about that. He hadn't said he would have to move into the mansion right away, regardless of his reaction to being called a mutant. He let that sit.
Clothing money in a month would be easy, so long as they weren't as expensive as a truck or a house. The bike repairs, he already had a friend and funds for. The name?
"October Elliott," Elliott replied coolly. It was part of his name, at least. So it didn't feel like lying and he could sell it real easily.
It came down to who had the thicker skull. In this case, it seemed like it was a tie. They both had thick heads. Elliott's head rocked back from the attack, and he grit his teeth to keep his focus. They were still locked in combat. Close range. Grappling. And as the world passed by behind Max's body, Elliott got a sinking feeling.
"Not. Looking. Down." He gnashed his teeth and tightened his grip on Max.
Usually, the second the coyote looked down was the second the world fell out from under his feet. The trick that wily animal never realized was to just keep going. If you just keep going without second-guessing yourself, there's no limit to what you can achieve. Maybe.
Elliott moved with the spin of the fall. They were going down. He wanted to be the one on top. As they struggled, he drove his other knee forward best he could. If he won the struggle, he was going to follow it up with a flurry of blows on the fallen foe. That's if he was still good to go for fighting. Falls sometimes had that disorienting effect. And it was still up in the air (ba dum tsh) about who would come out on top.
He turned and walked towards the end of the alley, and the city street. He waved a hand over his shoulder as he went. "See you soon."
Tyson had his work cut out for him learning to handle what he had become. Hopefully, he would figure some things out on his own. Elliott wanted to help him, if he could. And soon.
He was doing pretty good, breathing, but perfecting a good meditation technique and achieving mental calm would take time.
(( OOC I will PM you a new thread. Let's call this finished! ))
Three on one turned to three on two quicker than you could say "What the hell is that?!" Pixies hoodie cursed as claws came out of the darkness to slash at his arm, but the cursing was brief. His mutant power had kicked in. Pain was a part of it, and to be expected. Still, he hated using it. It freaking hurt. First it was an inch of blood armor, then it was a foot of armor crawling up his right arm like a spiky armor of clay. A bit of blood hit the pavement with an audible sound of pottery on concrete. It shattered into tiny chunks. Pixies hoodie held up the injured arm, glaring at it, and through it, to the being beyond.
"God damn it," he muttered. "You cut up my favorite sweatshirt. Freaking lizard cat. What the hell even are you?! Butch? Cassidy. You okay?"
The flaming knife thug rushed at panther dragon mutant woman without a word, and let that be his answer. Green knife person hurled his at green-skinned mutant, and uttered an "Uh, duh!" reply.
The flaming knife came in at a downward angle, held ice-pick style in the creep's hand. The blade's edge faced outwards, away from him, towards his target. Many might have thought such a technique sloppy, the mark of an amateur. And in most cases, they might be right. But this guy knew what he was doing. He even knew to cap the pommel with his thumb when he stabbed, to prevent the slipping of the blade when it struck solid objects.
Elliott rushed backwards a step and let the knife clatter worthlessly against the wall. It vanished as it hit, but he didn't notice because he was already running to retrieve his metal stick. Another green knife lanced through the darkness to hit the ground bare fractions of an inch from where he'd ducked to grab his metal weapon. Elliott looked up at Green Knife Man, and bared his teeth in a dangerous zipper-like smile.
He was the first real conversation she had had here? That was probably a bit disappointing. Her, going to a mutant school and all. Expecting mutants. And him decidedly not one. And also not too interested in the conversation.
"That's real rough. I know a guy in a similar situation. Changed his entire appearance. Real difficult. Gave him primal urges, made him feel more animal than man. They're helping him here. Hopefully you find the help you need, too."
"The staff is pretty cool," he continued. "I guess. Lots of options for schooling. Helps some of the more obvious mutants continue their educations without getting into trouble with anti-mutant folks. And I think there's a roomba around here somewhere with a walkman strapped to it. MP3 player. Whatever." He glanced over his shoulder, like someone was going to come in and correct him on it.
She actually screamed at him. When people screamed at him in the past, Elliott had developed an excellent method for dealing with it. He had walked away. No dialogue. No explanations. Just walked away. Elliott didn't walk away now. He wasn't sure why.
After the scream came a bunch of Japanese. Elliott had had a friend who was dangerously into anime, so he knew what Japanese sounded like when he heard it. She also looked Asian, and it didn't sound Chinese, which helped narrow it down. It wasn't like he understood what she was saying, either way, so he just waited. Eventually, she realized her mistake.
He rubbed the back of head neck and felt awkward, like some sort of bulbous sore thumb. "My name's Elliott," he managed. And I'm talking awkwardly to a teenage girl, he finished bleakly. That was kind of weird. "Sorry I nearly ran into you."
The mansion was full of kids like this, he reminded himself. There was nothing weird to saying hi to one and moving on.
This was no guy. That much was clear. As he scanned the darkness and prayed that the spots went away, he definitely decided he was clear on that fact. Not a man. Definitely not a man. A girl. A cute cute girl. Like 'Daisy Ridley' cute. And she was trying to hurt him.
Now, it wasn't clear just yet if she was trying to kill him, or simply testing his reflexes. He could have been training at that second, and not even know it. Or she could simply have been playing with her food. Either way, it didn't matter to him, because HE WASN'T GETTING PUSHED AROUND.
It was time to go on the offensive. And so, Elliott closed his eyes.
Darkness was real and full this time. The back of his eyelids, and his eyelids' eyelids. He focused on every other sense, and willed them to go up in Stereo. It didn't work, but he willed it all the same. When next she came at him, hopefully he'd hear her coming and be ready.
He was.
She came at him, and this time, he kicked out before she got close enough. He felt a meaty point of contact, and the target faded back. It came at him again from a different angle. The second time, it was accompanied by something that made a sound that crackled. Now, THAT, he hadn't mentally prepared for. He sprang backwards ten feet and reevaluated his situation.
"Shhhhh," came the whispered reply. It was shortly followed by more crackling that definitely wasn't 'shushed', and a punch in the gut that felt like he'd been sacked by a freight train linebacker weighing a couple million volts.
... Yeah. The description didn't make sense. It was the only thing he had been able to think when the punch floored him and left him twitching like a taser victim. Bzzt. Ugh. Guh.
"You know, when you talk in a dark room," the woman's voice admonished him. "You give yourself away..." She almost sounded disappointed. But for a woman trying to kill him, that made ZERO sense. So--
"Oh, f me. Are you the guy?!" Elliott spat at the ceiling. He was on his back, still. It was a nice concrete floor. Very cold. Spots were still there. He'd miss them when they were gone. For now, the cold concrete was very comfortable and he wasn't quite ready to get back up and deal with things.
After the darkness of the warehouse, the sudden light was blinding. Where once there had been shadows and the occasional bar of moonlight, now there was something out of a freaking anime. He didn't even register what it was in his brain before he started stumbling backwards heavily onto his backside in a blind shuffle. It was entirely possible he let out a high-pitched squeak. No, you can't call that 'feminine.' There are plenty of women with high-pitched voices who are far stronger than some men, and calling something girlish simply because it registers in the right octave or pitch is so sexist. But it had been high-pitched, kind of like a squeal a small child might make when they are scared, and shut up.
He couldn't see. The fist of brightness had smashed down in the air in front of him, then suddenly been extinguished again, and He. Couldn't. See. His heart beat with a sense of urgency reflecting that. His eyes, on the other hand, saw plenty of spots. Spots, spots, and more spots. Nothing else. Nothing useful. So to sum up, he was momentarily blind. Recurring darkness did not help.
Maybe if he hadn't been sprung back into blinding darkness, he wouldn't have been so blind? That's madness talking.
The fact was, he didn't know what had tried to attack him, and just as fast, the light had been snuffed out. He didn't have the training to focus on his other senses entirely with his heart racing and his eyes dotty. But even if he had, he wouldn't have heard much stealthy padding going down. In fact, the mystery figure was standing right where he'd left it. But all he could do to handle the problem he was encountering was stutter out "Who are you!?"
A feminine voice said "Hmph," condescendingly. Now, for actual women, you can say feminine. It isn't sexy. Er, sexist. But she was definitely that. What?
His mind reeled as the light came on again, dimmer this time. Underneath a cupped hand. It was like ball lightning in her fist.
In the piddling light coming out between her fingers, she was a stunner. Brown hair, cut shortish, in a bob, below ear lobe level, but not down to the shoulders. All the right curves in all the right places, but with muscle tone akin to a Ronda Rousey. Her legs below the shorts were almost invisible in the darkness. Black leggings, no doubt. Short tight cargo shorts, almost chocolate brown. And a tan high necked exercise crop top, like a woman might use for yoga. She had an angular face shape, where the forehead and chin lengths were almost equal. The chin was pointed. It was a simple face. Not much makeup. Nothing weird. Looked like dark brown eyes one could lose themselves in if they weren't on the defensive after being blinded in a dark warehouse. Oh, and most of this was obscured by the still-present spots. In other words, super sexy from what. He. Could. See. But not sexy was the position they were in.
"Ffff--," He started.
She shushed him, and raised him a terse "Shut up." The lights went out again.
"God dammit." He cursed.
He heard footsteps rushing on his right, and turned to raise his arms in a block just in time. The blow sent him sliding across the warehouse floor a few inches, but he kept from flying several feet, which seemed a fair trade to him. He tried grabbing at the arm that he had blocked, but failed as its owner faded away.
