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.
His antennae twitched with the pain. Such as it was, it was hard to focus, so while he caught the motion in his periphery of the man who’d come to his aid, all Elliott really noticed was the running commentary.
Cheap shot!
Ten points!
“You okay?”
He grunted in reply. Then, he took a deep breath and pushed the pain away into an imagined little triangular container in the back of his mind. He stood up straight, and wiped at his brow. The mind over matter thing almost worked. But there was still a dull pain.
Was he okay? Was he okay? Part of him wanted to say it just got nit shot by Teddy ruxpin! Of course I’m not okay!’ Part of him wanted to say ‘didn’t feel like stuffing he hit...’ But the part of him that was trying to be a kinder, gentler a$$ho|3 said: “Yeah... I’m fine! Thank you. How’re you?” And his voice only cracked slightly.
Throb, throb.
Tiredly, he looked around. There were bears everywhere. Here, a bear. There, a bear! Bears, bears, bears!
The man had swatted away another bear, but Elliott saw a third flanking him from behind. Without a word, he rushed forward to punt the thing across the hall. As it sailed, it dropped its very sharp-looking pirates cutlass. Had it been wearing an eye patch?
He looked to the guy and snapped off a quick introduction. “I’m elliott.”
“What the he’ll is this? It’s like the build a bear workshop went insane... my girlfriends nephew just came here last week. Dodged a fskkking bullet. Jesus.”
A bear with a claw hand snatched a woman’s purse down the hallway. A pair with half a heart on each side (lover bears?) tackled some man with a goat chin from either side. And there was more. More than his little green mind could process.
“Someone’s gotta find who’s doing this and kick their ass.” He muttered, almost to himself.
Build a bear? Hah! He’d helped the children build hundreds upon hundreds of bears. Day in, day out, he had worked. And they’d been so BORING. So uncreative. He could have done better. He could have been better. And when he realized his mutant power late one Saturday night, whilst dancing his little wooden puppet bear around in his basement, he decided he would. Do better.
He could build it. He had the technology. He had the power. And he had the method and means. He could build a better bear. And it could be a real boy.
The next day, Anthony Gepetti got to work.
—
The mall was super busy. He was shopping for a present for Valentine’s Day for Kenzi, his girlfriend. Everything was good. The food court was full of people eating corn dogs and pizza. (Not people-eating corn dogs, to clarify). The four nations of style were at peace. But all of that changed when the build a bear nation attacked.
They surged out of the glass front window, scattering men, women, and children! Bears with spatulas strapped to their forearms. Bears with angry-looking claws duct taped on. Bears of unusual size. Bears, bears, bears! There were dozens of them.
One of them ran up, cute as a button! Elliott sipped his coffee and glanced down at the little darling. It leapt up and slugged him in the balls.
“Oof!” He doubled over. Coffee spilled. If he could have cried, he’d have done so! “F&&$&ing bear...” he grumbled. “Why?”
Chocolate she totally didn’t give them. Elliott snorted. A real feat, without a nose.
Kids. They really were great. Like balls of energy that raced from place to place, making messes and falling on their butts until they learned better. Like little drunk people. Like— many, many things.
“Yeah. Child free the way to be. At least, for now.” He agreed.
Would his be green? Would him and his girlfriend even try?
Idly, he hoped for hot pink. A real talking point. Just kidding.
She talked about aesthetics. He nodded.
“Too much black. Too tough guy. I mean, look at me.” He gestured at his outfit. It did not scream tough guy. Elf hat, blue pea coat. “You can be a tough guy without broadcasting,” he puffed his cheeks out for emphasis. “Tough guy.”
A lot of people that wore MMA themed stuff were real poseurs. Not that people who liked MMA needed to be tough, or fight. But—
Mmm muffin. Mmm coffee.
The conversation had shifted to him and his own personal life. And potential heroics. It took her back. But her reaction was not a bad one. Most orphans are actual people, and don’t need sympathy, no matter how sincere.
Her focus on his dick comment was much more real.
“Thanks,” he said with a small smile. “I’m really trying, I swear.” Cross his heart. “And you’re welcome.”
“So. Do you want to talk about why you were so upset back there, in a sudden topic paradigm shift? Or are you happy just keeping it light for now?” Elliott asked. Because he could gladly go either way.
He grinned his zipper-toothed grin and put out a pot to reheat the chili in. Then, Elliott set out a pan and got to work opening the package of hot dogs.
“That’s funny.” He said. “So, what. You came here all the way from... where? Greece?”
It was just a guess. Maybe she sounded a little Greek? Maybe? Or maybe he was just saying it because snake hair.
He set out several hot dogs. Heck. He would fry up the whole package! They were hungry. And they could ace anything they didn’t eat. Then, he dumped all the chili into the pot. Finally, while things were cooking, he dug out buns and condiments. As a final touch, he pulled out a jar of jalapeños... for himself. And shredded cheese.
“If i were being extra, I would grill onions. But these might work if we want them.” He set out a canister of those fried onion toppings you get for salads. “We are gourmet.”
“You should let me make something,” Elliott said, as he barged into the kitchen. Even if he’d just been healed, he felt well enough to make good food. And she’d just given blood.
“I insist. You just gave blood. And I make a mean grilled cheese.”
He went to the fridge and started shifting things around. Something caught his eye. God bless leftovers.
“We even have leftover chili. And hot dogs, if you’d prefer that over grilled cheese and quote unquote soup.”
>>”His stuff was left behind? What happened? Move out?”
She hadn’t understood. The whole heroic sacrifice thing. It had gone over her head.
Part of him wanted to be a dick, and do something real dark and sarcastic, like miming an explosion and popping him mouth like “boom!”
He didn’t fake an explosion with his mouth. He just said “Yeah... he moved out.”
She was an innocent bystander. He didn’t need to ruin her day talking up his good old dead heroic roommate. He wasn’t even sure why he’d brought the guy up in the first place. He deserved better than to be carted out whenever Elliott needed an excuse to be melodramatic.
She agreed with him, and gave him some advice, then made her retreat.
Elliott nodded. “Yeah, thanks. It was good talking to you. “Miss.”
“Not all philosophies have to make sense, to be followed.” She said.
“Truer words have never been spoken, I guess.” Elliott said. Except maybe ‘I seem to be on fire,’ by some random guy in Pompeii.
As for his comment on making amends... Redemption wasn’t an exclusive club. And she had a lot of good stuff to say on that topic.
“Yeah.” He said. His voice was choked up a little. “Honestly. I’m a little touched.” And he was.
Although if she knew what he had done... funny how his story was basically a super-violent vigilante extension of the plot to the TV show My Name Is Earl. He didn’t actually say THAT though.
“He was... from the other world. That alternate reality thing in Central Park. Left it all behind. Got outed as a hero on the Times Square Jumbotron.” Elliott said quietly, shrugging one shoulder.
“I still have his motorcycle. You’re the first person I’ve really told about him. Other than this girl who’d mugged me. Not even my girlfriend.” Which was kind of crappy, he realized. But she’d only worry if she knew he was a costumed vigilante. And nobody wanted that.
“Nobody knew we had done a thing. Sometimes, when you do everything right people don’t know you’ve done anything at all... and it was never about that.” He said.
Benji has always been doing his part, not in it for acclaim or chicks. Though he probably could have had them, if he’d wanted that.
Andrea went and tried to make it even heavier. He could have died? Another single-shoulder shrug.
And she was trying to make him feel heroic?
He wasn’t sure after what he’d done for Ragnarok, He could be a hero. Even if he’d also technically destroyed them by trying to organize chaos, like lightning in a bottle.
He kept quiet, while she spoke. Shirtless and bare to the world. And still cold with chills. Were those due to being partly unclothed?
She unhooked the blood transfusion hose. He’d almost forgotten he had her blood in him. Hm.
Was that what he’d just told her? That there were people he’d saved? “I suppose,” he said noncommittally. “That girl. Door, Doreen.” Something.
That there were people out there that counted him a hero, meant the flip side was also true. Which gave him a momentary shudder. Those two men. Like a fox and a wolf. With knives. They were still out there. He’d only scared them off. Or made it too hot for them to stick around...
Would Benji think he’d done good, and be proud?
“Benji. Was too good for his own good. Yeah. He’d think I’d done alright. But then, he’d also think it was my duty to help people if I could. And— and frankly, I think that’s a stupid philosophy to have.”
He frowned. He hated talking Ill of the dead. Benji had been like a brother to him. More of a brother than he’d ever know, actually. But—
“Before I started helping people, Andrea...” He said, voice weak. Defeated. “I was kind of a bad guy. How does one even make amends for that?”
What kind of karma did he have stacked against him?
Spoil em and give em back. “Or give them loads of sugar then return them, in laymen’s terms. Someone else can deal with the rocket.” Elliott grinned at her.
So she’d grown up watching her uncle, and from there it has snowballed. Cool cool.
“It really is a shame,” he agreed. “You’d think more people would be into that.”
Donut and coffee, good choice. But he had his muffin. And it was crusty with sugar on top. Deelishus.
He plopped down in the booth with her, and tore off a hunk of muffin. Nibbled daintily. Didn’t shove the whole thing in his mouth like a heathen. And he paused, when she accused him of being a hero.
“Orphan, actually.” He finished chewing his bite. “Seen enough people with troubles growing up, in and out of homes. Know when someone needs help. And I’m trying to be more of a people person. Because I used to be a colossal dick.”
He wasn’t a hero. Benji had been the hero. He just occasionally did heroic things. And he wasn’t going to out himself as a costumed vigilante who routinely stopped muggers.
She was holding his hand and talking about death. He somehow thought he were more repressed than this.
Maybe art and practicing expressing his feelings made him too good at being an emotional wreck.
Andrea confessed about her power, and... it was heavy. Heavier than a mountain. Elliott frowned.
“That is so rough.” He said, and felt instantly and immediately inadequate. Rough was an understatement. Rough was like sandpaper beside a long beach as far as comparisons went to what that was. Or a desert sandstorm. He couldn’t even find words that were adequate for the situation. That was how bad it was. And he went and made it worse.
“He... my roommate... there was a bomb. We used to work together doing the heroing thing. Had some issues we needed to work out and make amends for. And— a mad bomber had a bomb.”
He shivered. And he wasn’t cold.
“Benji saw one solution. Because if it went off it’d hit an apartment building. And lots of people would get hurt. He felt like it was his responsibility to prevent that. Because he was insane.”
He clenched his fists on his lap in front of him. “I kicked him and he used his power and I kicked him so he’s get height... and he got out of range of the building. Right on time.”
He stared towards the ceiling light. Not crying. “Newspapers thought it was out of season fireworks... I don’t think you could have healed ashes.”
“So anyways all I had left was his charred helmet. And his canvas. And I was angry and kicked it and that’s why I paint.”
“I am not very good at dealing with my emotions.” He said blandly. “Or being heroic. Compared to him.”
He did NOT cry. His throat was just dry, that was all. Not croaky with emotions.
“Well that’s good. Glad he’s doing better.” Not that Elliott knew him, but it was good to hear people were doing good. Especially family members of potential friends.
And a kid too? “Kids are cute.” He agreed. “My girlfriend’s nephew. Will not stop watching Frozen. Or Tangled. Boy loves his cute princesses I guess.”
He shrugged one shoulder, in a ‘can you blame him?’ Gesture.
He found himself matching her smile as she went on about MMA stuff. “You certainly know your stuff,” Elliott said. “It’s so rare I actually find someone who understands that stuff. Unless you go to a sports bar or something.”
Which was fine and all. But it was way better when you actually were talking about it with someone you knew, who didn’t kept glancing at your green.
They had an understanding. “Deal,” he agreed.
They went into the coffee place. And immediately, he got in line.
He eyeballed the menu.
When he got to his turn he ordered a mocha and a blueberry muffin.
((OOC feel free to have them get their stuff and sit down. Elliott’s getting coffee and a muffin!))
“Wow. Nothing so exciting for me. The green thing and all of that came first. The sock sticking was within the last few years. Some lady put my cells under a microscope and told me I’m like part bug, part frog or something.” He shrugged. “I can climb walls like a spider so that’s cool I guess. Cannot wear shoes though.”
He wasn’t gonna get into the whole convoluted backstory he had, what with the space pod/egg(?) in the barn and the potential ‘being adopted but we’ll never know!’ Angle. On account of being mostly naked and cold.
Straining, Andrea acquired a blanket. He was appreciative and snuggled in.
She said something about him healing faster and not needing another person bleeding out on her that night. A comment came unbidden to his lips.
“Man. I wish you’d been here when my last roommate was still around.”
A pause. “Although maybe it wouldn’t have helped much after all.” He frowned. Blargh blargh blargh. Lame thoughts were laaaame. What a Debbie downer he was.
((And if they want a tattoo of a banana who is to judge them?))
“Ah yeah,” Elliott rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah. That’s fair. Mainly I like to draw what inspires me.”
He was silent for a few seconds, then he confessed. “My roommate... he’s the one who got me into art. Quite by accident. See... he saved some people, you know. Heroically? And when all his stuff was left behind... I just sort of kicked the dumb paints into the dumb canvas because I was so tired and angry and messed up. And my girlfriend saw it and said it was art.”
He shrugged. “So that’s kind of what my style has been as far as painting goes. Transferring emotion into canvas. Maybe walking on it. Punching it, kicking it. Smearing it. Not really trying to make forms. And apparently people who can convey feeling in art can make a pretty decent sum in this world of ours. But I’d like to adapt and grow too. Because I don’t want to become repetitive or a one trick pony...”
“I’ll try copying things I like and adapting it to my style. That’s good.”
‘Them kooky Greeks,’ Elliott agreed mentally. ‘Always killing or cursing instead of finding peaceful solutions.’
It had never been Medusa’s fault, either. Poseidon had been the one to screw that all up. Time and a place, man.
He chuckled when he heard she’d wanted to be a mermaid.
“Trading one mythological creature for another.” He said.
“Maybe you’ll grow fins as some sort of power growth.” He added thoughtfully. “I learned I was a mutant when my power changed and I started clinging to socks. And walls. I mean, the green skin was probably a cue but I thought ‘alien’, not ‘mutant’.” Yay!
Seeing his DNA under a microscope had been neat.
Half an hour wasn’t so long. The conversation was nice. Although. “Is there a blanket anywhere?” He asked, suddenly conscious of the fact he was cold, and why.
He nodded at her comment about having a new job if she could be the next Van Gogh or Davinci. Only when she talked about copying things did he speak up.
“The old masters.” Elliott smiled wistfully. “Reminds me of a comic where every person kept saying they wished they could paint like the old masters. Every generation, back to cave men days. Some scrawl on a wall. Caveman says I’m the best. Dunno what to think of that.” He shrugged a shoulder.
“Every generation wanted to imitate and improve the one before it. They should just do their own thing. They’d probably be happier. Less copying, yeah?”
“Although people who duct tape banana to walls and sell it for millions need to stop preying on idiot billionaires, and just stop.” Being open to new ideas is good but not so open your brain falls out.
