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 was an obvious mutant, but he would be the absolute last person to tell you that. He was 6'2", with lime green skin and a definite 'alien' vibe. Not Ridley Scott's "Alien", though that would have been cool. More like the tall green or gray man from Mars alien. He had two fingers and a thumb on each hand, and if you'd check under his shoes, you'd see that he had one big toe and one little one on his feet. They were like the turtles' feet in the live-action teenage mutant ninja turtles movie from the 90s. He had red eyes with no visible dot in the center, and no visible nose, just two vertically-slitted nostrils. No ears. No hair. He did have antennae, though. Two nice long black springy ones jutting backwards out of the top of his head. He was smiling as he stepped into the ring. You could tell because his teeth looks jagged like a zipper, and were very charming and white. If you really really focused hard on the palms of his hands, you might see a line like a scar across each one, but you'd need to be close. And what good would this information do you, anyways? And since you're dying to know, how was he dressed?
He was dressed like a pimp, in a jet black suit and slacks with a yellow dress shirt beneath that, and golden buttons across the breast and cuffs, with a honey brown tie on top. Black belt. Black shoes. It did not fit in with what the rest of the folks were wearing. But then, he hardly fit in with the rest of the folks, seeing as he was an alien (from outer space), and many of them were just humans and mutants. So there.
Kineta had told him about this club. That sort of broke the first rule, but that was okay. She had told him he had been practicing long enough, and needed to get his toes dirty. Or hands. Whatever. For being Cybele's sister, she certainly didn't seem anything like her. While Cybele was calm, cool, and collected, Kineta was brash and impulsive. She came off cocky, but she overcompensated for her muscle by acting girly whenever she could. It was a distinctly different feel than her third sister, Megara, had given off. That woman was cold, smug, and somehow kind. She hadn't wanted him to do this. She had wanted him to wait. He had wanted to impress the Cerberus sisters, though. So here he was.
His opponent looked like he had stepped out of a boy band support group meeting. Curly brown hair. Those clothes. That hat. Looks could be deceiving. That was part of the reason he had dressed the way he'd dressed. It wasn't like he was going to dirty anything other than his shoes.
The bell rang. He ran. Sweep the leg, young padawan. He rushed in to try and take the boy's feet out from under him, shouting "Let's end this, fast!"
The 'how do you do it' question was simple in appearance, but complex in application... if you got into the complex topics of how meditation works (or is thought to work), and the various breathing techniques. "To really give you a full understanding," Elliott held his chin, considering the question. "We'd have to go into some basics, and it'd probably take a couple of lessons. If you were interested in theory, that is. If you're not, then it's as simple as explaining a few calming breathing exercises, and that's that."
Maybe it wasn't okay to boil an entire art down to 'this is how you breathe', but... well, that's life. And when you're born, people usually don't even explain that!
"I mean, I'd love to get into the deep metaphysical funky monkey junk that is meditation in a martial arts setting, but-- I'd probably come off as a colossal nerd, so-- do you want the complex answer, or do you want to sit down and just try to breathe? Or maybe we should set aside some time for this, because I'm rambling and apparently, this whole thing is more complex in my mind than I'd initially thought and I need to slow down and shut up." His lips made a thin line across his face as he demonstrated one application of the ancient art of lifting your foot and forcibly jamming it into your own mouth, through the discipline of silence, of course, and not in the literal sense. Cough cough. Word.
"That's the thing with meditation," Elliott replied simply. "You don't have to think."
Sure, inner reflection was one possibility. You could sit and ponder existence like Buddha did, but you could also simply be.
"Meditation can be about quieting your mind. I'm not so much into the self-searching part of meditation. I'm more familiar with meditation in martial arts. Through meditation your awareness, calm, and focus will increase. All important things in fighting. If you're always tense, out of fear or whatever, you run out of energy. Gotta master your calm. Your energy. Your qi, dude." Ki. Mana. Chi. Whatever you want to call it, it boils down to the same fundamental idea in various martial arts disciplines and religions. Energy. "Learning to calm the emotional side of your body can be useful. I'm not telling you it'll help you for sure, or that you need to go out and do it today, but think about it. It might. The way I see it, learning to calm yourself down through breathing exercises can't hurt. It can only help."
If he wanted to explore himself and get into other things, there was always tomorrow. For now, the simple idea of breathing was all Elliott was trying to share. He could go all Yoda and talk about fear. He could go all enlightened and talk about peoples 'ways'. Yin and Yang. Whatever. But no, he'd chosen this. Whatever Tyson did with the suggestion was up to him.
Everything smells. Elliott's mouth turned off the barest fraction of an inch in one corner at the comment. He stifled an urge to tell Tyson that this is, in fact, New York, and that everything smells. Too loud? That, too. Instead, he merely nodded. He got it. Those things made 1200% sense to him.
After everything Tyson said, Elliott started off his response with "Steak tartare. Medium Rare steak. Sushi. Yookhwe. That's Korean. Parisa and Koi Soi. Carne Apache and Beef Carpaccio. Gyu tataki, toriwasa, and basashi. A good ceviche is hard to find, but if I find a good place, I'll let you know." He paused for a good five seconds after ticking those off on both hands, and then explained. "I had a friend back in the last city I lived in. He was really into eating things raw. That's only a portion of the list of things he introduced me to. He was like that guy for Forrest Gump, but with raw meats. Seriously."
He couldn't do a thing about Tyson's desire for hunting and fighting and pissing on fire hydrants (Sorry, Tyson! That's where territory defending went to for Elliott's brain!), but Tyson could darn well eat raw meat if he wanted to. Prepared properly, it was actually really delicious, too!
"For everything else..." He concluded thoughtfully. "Have you tried meditation?"
No registering. No indicators. He kept a mental list of the words and added another tick every time Tyson spoke. As Tyson spoke, he also considered what he was saying. He wasn't being merely a passive listener. He was trying to think of solutions.
"Yeah," Elliott said. "Always being on guard has to be hard. I'm betting you have heightened senses. You probably run faster and can see better in darkness. And there are probably other things that are similar to wolves, too. Am I right, or am I making an ass of me and you by assuming too much?" That difficulty talking was obvious too, but bringing that up would just be rude, and they were focusing on the more difficult things here right now.
How does one master one's self? There are many philosophies that delve into that. There are also many martial arts disciplines. Elliott, if nothing else, was a martial arts junkie. Maybe there was something there that Tyson could use?
"No," Elliott held up his hand in concession. "I don't. I don't know what it's like." He didn't. He had never dealt with something like that. And it was pretty rude to say things like he'd said to a near-complete stranger and then lie to their face and say that he did.
"What does one even say in a situation like this?" He shook his head. Thought about it. Talked some more. "There are groups." Yeah. Groups. "Support groups. I know it isn't a great option. It's honestly a bit of a lame suggestion. I kind of hate myself for making it. But I've never dealt with the sort of things you're going through. I'm not a mutant."
It would be irresponsible of him to say anything more here. These were all Tyson's calls, and Elliott couldn't make them for him. He couldn't stand on a soapbox and talk at him. Or, you could take the sensible option, you dummy. "I can listen." Elliott's voice was quiet.
The first thing to happen was Barry cursing him out when he saw the two guys. Guy one pulled a gun. Guy two whipped out a knife. Pygmy reacted as was expected, having not known what Elliott was up to. He leaped at Elliott in a blind rage, big knife in hand.
Elliott wasn't sure where the little man had stashed the knife. It was easily half his size (and yes, he may have been exaggerating). He sidestepped it easily enough, and Pygmy came down behind him. As he turned to bring a kick around to the Pygmy, Barry moved on the first guy. He hit him with a high haymaker just as Elliott missed the kick on Pygmy by bare inches and hit guy two. The kick sent him clattering into pots and pans with a deafening crash.
Pygmy whirled, and brought his knife around, but here, it was Barry to the rescue with a brutal karate chop to the back of Elliott's neck. Whatever Vulcan Kung Fu Chuck Norris Jackie Chan wu tang clan school of martial arts had taught him his beer-bellied battle style had done it right. Elliott promptly went unconscious, which left the next few seconds up to the security cameras to decipher.
Pygmy didn't kill Elliott. It looked like he had contemplated it for a second, but Barry kicked Elliott's gut several times, and they both got distracted by a couple more men. They handled them like freaking ninja, and it really made the security guys scratch their heads later. But there was nothing Elliott could have done. He was unconscious. He'd been out of the fight. Barry and the Pygmy went off-camera. The next bit on another camera was hazy. Someone threw something at the cameras that may have been food. Or it might have been cooking ware.
***
"And that's what I remember..." Elliott spoke quietly.
The guy interviewing him looked at him like he was a paramecium. Unintelligent, basic, but of some value in gaining knowledge. Unfortunately, he hadn't provided much more than they'd already known. "So the duo jumps you, coerces you into helping them break into our establishment and steal back a package YOU had just delivered. You backstabbed them, tried to help us, and ultimately got put on your ass?" He summarized, each word a jagged point wrapped in a bad Italian accent.
"Yeah, pretty much." Elliott lied. 'And you guys bought it like donuts.'
"I see. Well. You need to learn to freaking fight. You knocked out one of your own guys and got taken down a second later by a freaking karate chop. You're lucky that little guy didn't open you up like a Christmas package. Christ. Idiot."
"No brain of which to speak. Let Cybele know I'm sorry I wasn't more help. If she doesn't want me for the next job, I understand. We'll be in touch." He rose to go.
"Hold it." A hand on his back caused him to pause the 'rising' act. He looked at the hand's owner, a big meaty guy who looked like he was smuggling hams. Then, he looked back at the first. "She says you did great, given the circumstances. You were out for a while. We already spoke with her. It was a difficult situation. You did right by her. No harm, no foul. But she told me you need some training. If she's using you in the future, there's a guy she wants you to meet..."
Thus, Elliott screwed over an employer and was rewarded with a shiny new gym membership plan.
Loomed, and listened. And he talked. He told them about the guys out back. He glanced back a few times, like he was checking to see if they were still waiting patiently. Or maybe because of a guilty conscience. Because this was sort of backstabbing, and doing so for an employer even after he'd finished the job.
This next part would take delicacy. It had to come down right.
He went back to the alley, and talked to Barry alone for a minute. Pygmy really didn't like waiting out of hearing range, but he just had to deal. Then, came the hard part.
Elliott had told the two men he would be bringing two men in to talk about the package. He'd told them he expected them to act however he acted, and that he was doing this all in good faith. He wasn't one to screw an employer. These guys had tried to screw with him, and the easiest way to handle it had been to screw them back, harder, and to let it be up to the employer's discretion as to how she handled them. He hadn't really felt out what Cybele's opinion on matters like these was yet. He knew he would learn soon enough. Hopefully, she felt his honesty was worthwhile and believable, even when the next thirty seconds erupted into casual mayhem.
"Okay, so. Yeah." His hand found its way to the back of his head. Scratched it. His arm felt too long and awkward, or maybe it was just 'the talk'. "This thing where you lose control and blame it on the mutation. That's dangerous. Everything went okay today. Nobody at the cafe was upset. Mainly, they were just concerned about you. If you need help dealing with it, there are people you can talk to." 'Though maybe not me' Elliott thought. "But you really do need to learn some control. Because you're the only person that control yourself, Tyson. And. I feel like you don't want to be losing control and 'hurting people', like you said." He put air quotes around the hurting people part. Was that disrespectful? Maybe. But he felt like this pep talk was probably something the man needed to hear. "It's a hard truth, and it sucks, but-- that's why I'm telling you this. Because you seem like a nice guy, and you're in a tough situation, and I hate seeing nice people get hurt." Especially by themselves. Elliott fell silent after that massive monologue, and just let Tyson digest what he'd said.
He meant it. There's this proverb someone once told him, or maybe it was a bible verse. Or maybe it was something from some anime or tv show or comic book or sci fi Star Trek Star Wars Yoda Wisdom someone had built up their belief system on and decided to espouse. But it generally went like this. To those much is given, much is expected. The idea it was trying to express was a little hazy, but he understood the message. If you've got a talent, if you've got power. If you're in a position of authority, or if someone depends on you. Looks up to you. Needs to be able to count on you. You don't freaking run around stabbing cops. Or doing things to attract needless attention. His reggae dreadlocked buddy had explained it thusly: "To who much is given, much is expected. Great power, mon. Requires great care. You gotta be responsible. You dig?" He'd dug it. He'd dug it very much. It was part of why he tried not to get a lot of power in life. So less would be expected of him. But also because he had enough trouble being responsible for himself. Looking out for others is hard work. Yet here he was, trying to look out for Tyson.
Why was it Elliott was being so introspective about morals and where he stood lately? First, with Rachel and Barry, and now this. He figured maybe he was simply growing up.
He heard the sounds, and followed them into the alley. There Tyson was, upset, stuck in his own little world.
"Easy," Elliott held up a hand. He approached slowly, taking note of the situation. He could see something red in the fur. Had Tyson been hurt more than he'd let on? "You okay?"
It stunk in the alley. Since this was New York, that really didn't change the smell of the area by that much. There were some wooden crates, and cardboard boxes. One was empty, but it looked like it had once had 'free kittens' written on it in black marker. Since then, the marker had faded. It was black licorice scented, but Elliott couldn't smell it. In the alley, the sounds of the city were muffled slightly.
He waited until Tyson spoke to him before continuing. He wanted to hear what Tyson had to say.
He got it, really. The whole 'power, overwhelming' thing. Not personally, but it bore repeating. The guy was in a new situation, with new powers. New responsibilities. He got that. He could wrap his head around it. He could also wrap around the fact that he was really going out on a limb, here. Strange because he wasn't usually all that good of a guy. He supposed the big wolf had just brought the friendly side out of him. Sort of like when you see a scared dog, and want to help it out. That was a terrible comparison. Absolutely terrible to compare a human to an animal like that. But he wasn't ashamed, because it was inside his own head, and therefore subject to his own rules. And the intent behind the thought was good, so nobody needed to judge.
Okay, no help up. He retracted his offer and his hand politely. Claws, he got it. At least he didn't seem to be hurt more than his pride. "Okay," Elliott replied mildly.
People reacted as people do, in a variety of ways. Elliott took note of how Tyson handled himself in the situation. Some mutants don't react positively to things like that. One example was Aura... who liked shooting at harmless little old ladies because they were rude. He could think of several other examples like that from the news. New York certainly didn't have a monopoly on the violent mutant market. It wasn't only mutants who were violent, either. He heard a faint growl coming from Tyson. He waited, and watched.
The woman talked to him, and-- Tyson ran. He went too quickly for Elliott to react. The green man blinked his second set of eyelids. Antennae twitched.
Elliott looked sideways at the woman. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Seems like he's new to the 'being a mutant' thing. Something like that might not be a bad idea. You okay?" He added the last part after a moment of silent consideration. "The cafe okay?"
She acted like she hadn't even realized anything had been damaged. A quick look around showed nothing beyond repair. "It's fine," she said. "We've got insurance."
Elliott spared a moment's thought on how Mutant Insurance could work, and decided not to dwell on how high their rates must be. He set a trio of $20 bills down on the table, and went for the door without another word. For good people, he could spare money, even when it was tight. He wasn't so mercenary that he was beyond that. He didn't go around doing good deeds, but... when the situation was right, he wasn't opposed. The woman picked up the money and watched as the door swung shut with a jingle of bells.
He looked around, outside the doors, then started walking around calling out "Tyson, it's okay. She was just going to tap your nose lightly with a newspaper!" and hoping he'd hear and come back. If not, he would simply move on. Que Sera, Sera. Whatever will be will be.
The last thing he had expected was Tyson to jump at the duck. The man looked like he hadn't expected it, either. He seemed to handle it well enough. It looked like Tyson wasn't in the same weight class as some of those other dangerous werewolves. He was no loup garou. Duckman fled.
Elliott gawped. He glanced at the aggressive man, just as he went out the door. The bells on the door jangled as it swung shut. The man's footsteps clapped against the pavement as he took off after the duck. Elliott turned and bent to offer Tyson some help getting to his feet.
"You okay?" He asked.
The people in the cafe were shooting them looks. Some were accusatory. Others were cautious. Some were neutral, maybe even understanding. The girl from behind the counter was walking towards them.
(( OOC : It's up to you how the people in the shop ultimately handle this. Full control of shop NPCS, granted! ))
