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 Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]

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Atma
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PostSubject: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Sat Aug 02, 2014 7:10 pm

Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing?  If so how far have you gotten?  If not please direct your attention to YouTube, and watch OVA 1-4 at least. I have seen OVA I - VII and have finished the manga, currently re-reading for clarity.

Name: Atma Noviski

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Physical appearance: A 6'1 athletic mesomorph, Atma's mixed European heritige grants him a pale complexion and stern blue eyes. A collection of small nicks and cuts matured into scars can be found throughout his body, the most noteworthy being a thin scar from his lower left lip extending vertically down his chin to his adam's apple. This is a result of shrapnel from an explosion, his torso pock-marked with scars from the same detonation. Aside from this, a clean shaven head and no facial hair beyond his eyebrows betrays nothing amongst his square-set face.

Clothing of choice:

As an enforcer, Atma's casual clothes consist of a variety of clothes though most typically a pair of fitted jeans and a t-shirt of choice plus neatly maintained boots. The colour of the jeans and shirt simply vary by whatever it is he pulls out of the wardrobe that morning. The boots themselves are all black with a yellow stitching, made for industrial usage and laced black.

The man's on-duty outfit is composed of black BDU with his bulletproof tactical vest fitted for capacity of a radio, two cartridges and a combat knife. At his belt are slots for four more cartridges, two grenades, a flask, a utility pouch and a holster at his left for a pistol.

Weaponry of choice:

Typical Equipment:

- FN Five SeveN ( 5.7×28mm )

- Ka-Bar 1222 USMC Fighting Knife ( 7" Blade )

- LA85A2 ( 5.56x45mm NATO )

Storage:

- Welrod (9mm version)

- Accuracy International AW50 ( 12.7mm .50BMG )

Race: Human

Abilities: As an ex-military figure, Atma is a well trained marksman who maintains his skills with regular practice, live targets or not. In particular, he prefers to use a pistol and knife though is of course trained with various other ranged weaponry to suit situations. Again due to his militant background the man is a practiced knife-fighter, having some experience with swords as a teenager studying kendo though beyond this, no further weapon instruction. Finally, Atma has also studied a degree of judo. Some even say he is also a mean field cook, working wonders with rations.

Organization: Unaffiliated

Personality:

- Self-Loyalist

As a wildly devoted individual, Atma ia largely loyal to any cause that serves his own sense of direction in life. If he wants to create chaos, he will do so in good company. This obviously plays against him as a weakness and a strength, turning him into a man of extremes and when cast upon a wayward wind, a man alone. Beyond this, money is his motivator.

- Desensitised

After his time serving, Atma has become somewhat used to the typical sights of battle. The blood and gore no longer bother him so deeply nor rob him of as much sleep, the violence and brutality now a practiced second nature to a man who felt himself born to battle. This of course leads a negative impact on his attitude towards less experienced, squirming rookies at the sight of such things, viewing himself as a more professional mercenary.

- Lateral Thinker

As a lateral thinker Atma is often a creator of far-flung solutions, finding unusual method or tacticle approach to try and confront and thart and obstacle, organic or otherwise. This naturally leaves him oblivious to some simpler solutions, creating something of a common sense gap between himself and the average man.

Rank: Enforcer

Biography:

Atma was born and raised in Liverpool, England to a poor family. As such, his upbringing was a difficult ordeal with his father soon abandoning the family unit leaving he, his mother and sister to fend for themselves. As the youth's mother held down her teaching job his half-sister soon went astray to find her own glorified father, having disappeared years before.

Retreating within himself as a child, Atma attempted to maintain some manner of inner strength to support both himself and his disparate mother. Being above average in his studies the child's inner strength proved to never falter, even on those nights the reality of a mother crying at her knees, too prideful and too hurt to turn to anyone and especially not her own son.

Over time as he reached his teenage years, his sister's father had become wrapped up in the criminal element and suffered at the hands of a man he failed to pay up to, hung at the neck and beaten until broken in his aparment. Surviving the incident, Atma saw his older sister for the first time in years with the scores of her "Wonderful Dad"'s abuse clear across her features and sorrow ringing like a bell in her eyes as she clutched his broken hands. Little did the younger sibling know they would not cross paths for some time after this as his mother tugged him away with naught but hate in her eyes.

Continuing on his resolve finally began to waver as he questioned the horrors of the world about him. How could such things happen and why? As these questions drove the poison of despair deeper into his being, studies suffered. Even then as the fortress of his mind crumbled so too did the health of his matron, her shoddy immune system falling as the hate and bitterness consumed her.

It was the day he stood at her side in the hospital and his sister spat venemous trite towards them both that he decided a militant life would be the path to follow, one where he could battle the evils of the world first hand and gain the strength to endure the future he was convinced would follow.

On his twentieth birthday he was swept away in the tides of war on his tour of duty, killing in the name of his government and imagining he fought the good fight. The letter informing him of his mother's murder was the tipping point, he became merciless as opposed to the efficient machine he had worked himself into, turning cold where once cheerful. When he returned home the house was desolate, most possessions claimed to wipe the debt and leaving him an empty shell of a house twisted and black.

Despite everything, despite having left the armed forces and having solid references no workplace would accept him. As poverty crept like the hunger in his stomach the desperate man reached out to his sister who much to his disgust had taken up the mantle of her corrupted father's associates and offered him a role as a low-level thug. How could he have refused in his situation? After all, he could always count on his sister to take care of him, they were the last family each other had.

Before long he became an enforcer due to his "unique talents" and his penchant to collect firearms, a willingness from his training to carry out dirty work. As blood coated his hands and money filled his pockets the man soon found before long he was at the direct disposal of a central member of the gang himself, serving his aspirations.

RP sample:

Waking up with the birds, the well-toned man rose to their song partnered to the blades of sun glaring through the blinds onto his half-naked body. Hauling himself to sit hunched forward with legs crossed, a laboured exhalation escaped. "Damn weather.." He grunted with grit in tone as his thin fingers probed at the sore sinews of his neck, head craning to provide a better angle. Summer never was the most opportune time of year for him, the sweat glistening as if some accursed scrub had coated the merc with it as sleep held mind away from the body. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Atma trundled across the spartan bedroom, the only distinct feature a bed, accompanying tall cabinet and his weapons set out at the foot of the thing, facing the only window in the room, a tall and slender one at that.

Shoving the bathroom door open with a yawn and forceful ram of outstretched palm that soon clasped around a pull chrod, yanking dazedly before coming to lean upon the sink the neon tube above the mirror facing him flickering into life. As the dingy bathroom was illuminated the closet-like nature of it became all the more apparent with the decaying checkered tiles and the dingy, cracked porcelain bath crammed against the wall. After his daily ritual of cut-throat razor and manual toothbrush, the merc rinsed off the accumulated mildew before setting himself across the threshold of the door, back into his bedroom. An unusual structure but it suited him well. After all, to become barricaded in a bathroom would be an advantage.

Dragging out a cheap laptop from under his bed, the mercenary without a particular cause felt the impressionability of himself. Who would be today's highest bidder? The thought of the cash greasing his palms brought a twisted smile to his cheeks. Gone were the days of remorse, after all. Tossing the threadbare towel down to the floor after assualting his scalp with it, the blue-eye dragged on some comfortable elasticated boxers before suiting up for 'work'. Some johnny had bid pretty mediocre for his services but had still come out the top of the lot. It was a competitive contract, first to secure the kill and obtain evidence was first to the prize. Never a dull moment, just the way he needed to feel the flames in his veins.

Twenty minutes later he found himself stood in a backroom, facing off knife-to-knife against some lackey-level scrub of a mercenary clad in casual clothes and wielding a kitchen knife like it was his pride and glory. As he bound forward off of his back leg, beating aside the rookie's arm with a fist he fed the slid the sliver of light into the idiot's throat like his arm had been spring loaded, gloves knuckles abrasing the grunt's chin. Following the momentum through he flung the body down, wrenching his knife free as the corpse-to-be fell. Normally such an exertion would be witheld by the man but this was an exceptional circumstance. The punk had killed an innocent woman out in the alleyway, cut her from throat to groin and left her splayed across the yard in a pool of her own rotting essence. A tempered soldier he may be but a merciless killer of innocents he was not! Sheathing blade and drawing pistol Atma progressed through the stark white hallway, emptying a round noisily into the head of an ingrate on his cell, facing the closed front door. Upstairs a man screamed, likely the bullseye of this whole escapade before a loud thud reverberated through the ceiling, silencing the issue.

Scarcely a moment passed before the man was near senselessly barrelling up the stairs, where a sane man might consider another path this mercenary rolled the dice with lady luck, his pluck outweighing bad fortune as the shotgunner shredded the stairs in a pre-emptively nervous shot as the result of an overly itchy trigger finger. Not taking any risks as his fine head of unkempy brown hair popped up nary an instant after a handful of bullets made their new home in the head of the assailant. Brains splattered across the victim the flak-vested idiot slumped beside the smoking shotgun shell. In a same sudden moment his partner barged through a bathroom door, aiming a single action army from the hip like he thought the world was some western, yelling about his partner as the other hand fumbled with straggling jeans. This one didn't even have a jacket, but he did seem to have a riot helmet.

It was the yelling that betrayed the poor fool to a guaranteed demise. Wordlessly, expertly, a neat shot to the fool's arm before the knee followed, collapsing this particular sack of shit squealing. So much for a silent approach. From the relative safety of the shredded bannister, Atma popped a hole into the moron's heart as he attempted to rise. If the cold eyed merc had spent time examining the collective rookies the discovery would have been not only that of them buying a single set of gear and dividing it - the doorman had the kneepads, least lucky of the draw - that the muchachos had radios affixed to them, painted with numbers in the teens. Due to his ignorance however, once the man had cut the face from the target after putting a stop to his pleading, he found uponattempting to exit a yard full of five thugs. Two pistols, one submachine gun and one shotgun pointed at him. Apparently one of these snots had drawn the short straw, he mused. As demands were barked the man thought only of how uncomfortable the folded face was in his back pocket but then it was supposed to be just a temporary solution, no?

"For the last time, raise your hands!" Came the irritable, high-pitched demand. Peculiar for a henchman, it must've been the self hatred that drove this mutt. Taking stock of the situation he was facing five goon through a kitchen doorway with not even a grenade to hand and a face decaying next to his arse. Had there been worse days? Possibly. Flinging himself into the hopefully solid brick wall, the man heard the shouting of guns and the smattering of their fire into the outer side of the stonework as he braced his arms about his head and torso. Playing a classic maneuver the man yielded a pained cry and kicked a length of door amongst the glass strewn across tiled floor. Listening intently it became apparent the walls were thick and ready, this man had plenty of enemies after all. As one of the fools came forward brandishing his MP5, no sooner did his hands clear the doorway than did Atma snatch it from the capricious moron. Didn't he know to double-tap from a distance? Emptying one of few round remaining into the mans temple before the scream was uttered, the muscled man dived 'neath the window and sprayed the yard with gun spluttering over the splintered windowframe until a clack of empty magazine could be heard. A brief peek over the top with a shard of glass disclosed the fact they were dispatched, the bare yard having offered no cover.

Within an hour the man turned in the face to a man with a briefcase, received his pay and was told cleanup would be handled. Since that day many contracts strange and sound have passed through his handsm though not many have since asked for a face to be shaved from bone.


Last edited by Atma on Fri Sep 19, 2014 8:49 am; edited 8 times in total (Reason for editing : Ver. 1.0.1)
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Sun Aug 24, 2014 8:19 am

Still working on this?
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Thu Aug 28, 2014 10:49 am

Atma? This looks like all you need is an RP Sample. Feel free to contact me via PM if you need help with that.

I see Wetworks under RP Sample, could you elaborate on that? Is it supposed to be a link?
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Mon Sep 01, 2014 9:10 am

Apologies, left it as a note for myself! Gonna work this through over the next couple of days, I've been ridiculously busy.
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Mon Sep 01, 2014 10:45 am

I see. I'm looking forward to reviewing it, my friend~
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Wed Sep 17, 2014 7:48 pm

First draft completed! I look forward to your feedback. It feels rough, I know. I'll be more careful not to let laziness take hold of me in future.
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Fri Sep 19, 2014 12:34 am

Atma wrote:
Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing?  If so how far have you gotten?  If not please direct your attention to YouTube, and watch OVA 1-4 at least. I have seen OVA I - VII and have finished the manga, currently re-reading for clarity.

Name: Atma Noviski

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Looks good. I expect him to have a Ph. D in badassery.

Thesis wrote:
Physical appearance: A 6'1 athletic mesomorph, Atma's mixed European heritige grants him a pale complexion and stern blue eyes. A collection of small nicks and cuts matured into scars can be found throughout his body, the most noteworthy being a thin scar from his lower left lip extending vertically down his chin to his adam's apple. This is a result of shrapnel from an explosion, his torso pock-marked with scars from the same detonation. Aside from this, a clean shaven head and no facial hair beyond his eyebrows betrays nothing amongst his square-set face.

Very Gangster-y.

Jamal gonna' rek you wrote:
Clothing of choice:

As an enforcer, Atma's casual clothes consist of a variety of clothes though most typically a pair of fitted jeans and a t-shirt of choice plus neatly maintained boots. The colour of the jeans and shirt simply vary by whatever it is he pulls out of the wardrobe that morning. The boots themselves are all black with a yellow stitching, made for industrial usage and laced black.

The man's on-duty outfit is composed of black BDU with his bulletproof tactical vest fitted for capacity of a radio, two cartridges and a combat knife. At his belt are slots for four more cartridges, two grenades, a flask, a utility pouch and a holster at his left for a pistol.

No scarf? Disappointing.

Skintight Leather Best Leather wrote:
Weaponry of choice:

Typical Equipment:

- FN Five SeveN ( 5.7×28mm )

- Ka-Bar 1222 USMC Fighting Knife ( 7" Blade )

- LA85A2 ( 5.56x45mm NATO )

Storage:

- Welrod (9mm version)

- Accuracy International AW50 ( 12.7mm .50BMG )

Race: Human

Abilities: The ability to be human and play banjitar, of course...

Organization: Unaffiliated

So, He has guns, but doesn't necessarily know how to shoot the guns. Pls fix, don't need any more pubbies.

Should've brought a wizard wrote:
Personality:

- Self-Loyalist

As a wildly devoted individual, Atma ia largely loyal to any cause that serves his own sense of direction in life. If he wants to create chaos, he will do so in good company. This obviously plays against him as a weakness and a strength, turning him into a man of extremes and when cast upon a wayward wind, a man alone. Beyond this, money is his motivator.

- Desensitised

After his time serving, Atma has become somewhat used to the typical sights of battle. The blood and gore no longer bother him so deeply nor rob him of as much sleep, the violence and brutality now a practiced second nature to a man who felt himself born to battle. This of course leads a negative impact on his attitude towards less experienced, squirming rookies at the sight of such things, viewing himself as a more professional mercenary.

- Lateral Thinker

As a lateral thinker Atma is often a creator of far-flung solutions, finding unusual method or tacticle approach to try and confront and thart and obstacle, organic or otherwise. This naturally leaves him oblivious to some simpler solutions, creating something of a common sense gap between himself and the average man.

Rank: Enforcer

I expect a child soldier from you next.

Child Soldier, Best Soldier wrote:
Biography:

Atma was born and raised in Liverpool, England to a poor family. As such, his upbringing was a difficult ordeal with his father soon abandoning the family unit leaving he, his mother and sister to fend for themselves. As the youth's mother held down her teaching job his half-sister soon went astray to find her own glorified father, having disappeared years before.

Retreating within himself as a child, Atma attempted to maintain some manner of inner strength to support both himself and his disparate mother. Being above average in his studies the child's inner strength proved to never falter, even on those nights the reality of a mother crying at her knees, too prideful and too hurt to turn to anyone and especially not her own son.

Over time as he reached his teenage years, his sister's father had become wrapped up in the criminal element and suffered at the hands of a man he failed to pay up to, hung at the neck and beaten until broken in his aparment. Surviving the incident, Atma saw his older sister for the first time in years with the scores of her "Wonderful Dad"'s abuse clear across her features and sorrow ringing like a bell in her eyes as she clutched his broken hands. Little did the younger sibling know they would not cross paths for some time after this as his mother tugged him away with naught but hate in her eyes.

Continuing on his resolve finally began to waver as he questioned the horrors of the world about him. How could such things happen and why? As these questions drove the poison of despair deeper into his being, studies suffered. Even then as the fortress of his mind crumbled so too did the health of his matron, her shoddy immune system falling as the hate and bitterness consumed her.

It was the day he stood at her side in the hospital and his sister spat venemous trite towards them both that he decided a militant life would be the path to follow, one where he could battle the evils of the world first hand and gain the strength to endure the future he was convinced would follow.

On his twentieth birthday he was swept away in the tides of war on his tour of duty, killing in the name of his government and imagining he fought the good fight. The letter informing him of his mother's murder was the tipping point, he became merciless as opposed to the efficient machine he had worked himself into, turning cold where once cheerful. When he returned home the house was desolate, most possessions claimed to wipe the debt and leaving him an empty shell of a house twisted and black.

Despite everything, despite having left the armed forces and having solid references no workplace would accept him. As poverty crept like the hunger in his stomach the desperate man reached out to his sister who much to his disgust had taken up the mantle of her corrupted father's associates and offered him a role as a low-level thug. How could he have refused in his situation? After all, he could always count on his sister to take care of him, they were the last family each other had.

Before long he became an enforcer due to his "unique talents" and his penchant to collect firearms, a willingness from his training to carry out dirty work. As blood coated his hands and money filled his pockets the man soon found before long he was at the direct disposal of a central member of the gang himself, serving his aspirations.

RP sample:

Waking up with the birds, the well-toned man rose to their song partnered to the blades of sun glaring through the blinds onto his half-naked body. Hauling himself to sit hunched forward with legs crossed, a laboured exhalation escaped. "Damn weather.." He grunted with grit in tone as his thin fingers probed at the sore sinews of his neck, head craning to provide a better angle. Summer never was the most opportune time of year for him, the sweat glistening as if some accursed scrub had coated the merc with it as sleep held mind away from the body. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Atma trundled across the spartan bedroom, the only distinct feature a bed, accompanying tall cabinet and his weapons set out at the foot of the thing, facing the only window in the room, a tall and slender one at that.

Shoving the bathroom door open with a yawn and forceful ram of outstretched palm that soon clasped around a pull chrod, yanking dazedly before coming to lean upon the sink the neon tube above the mirror facing him flickering into life. As the dingy bathroom was illuminated the closet-like nature of it became all the more apparent with the decaying checkered tiles and the dingy, cracked porcelain bath crammed against the wall. After his daily ritual of cut-throat razor and manual toothbrush, the merc rinsed off the accumulated mildew before setting himself across the threshold of the door, back into his bedroom. An unusual structure but it suited him well. After all, to become barricaded in a bathroom would be an advantage.

Dragging out a cheap laptop from under his bed, the mercenary without a particular cause felt the impressionability of himself. Who would be today's highest bidder? The thought of the cash greasing his palms brought a twisted smile to his cheeks. Gone were the days of remorse, after all. Tossing the threadbare towel down to the floor after assualting his scalp with it, the blue-eye dragged on some comfortable elasticated boxers before suiting up for 'work'. Some johnny had bid pretty mediocre for his services but had still come out the top of the lot. It was a competitive contract, first to secure the kill and obtain evidence was first to the prize. Never a dull moment, just the way he needed to feel the flames in his veins.

Twenty minutes later he found himself stood in a backroom, facing off knife-to-knife against some lackey-level scrub of a mercenary clad in casual clothes and wielding a kitchen knife like it was his pride and glory. As he bound forward off of his back leg, beating aside the rookie's arm with a fist he fed the slid the sliver of light into the idiot's throat like his arm had been spring loaded, gloves knuckles abrasing the grunt's chin. Following the momentum through he flung the body down, wrenching his knife free as the corpse-to-be fell. Normally such an exertion would be witheld by the man but this was an exceptional circumstance. The punk had killed an innocent woman out in the alleyway, cut her from throat to groin and left her splayed across the yard in a pool of her own rotting essence. A tempered soldier he may be but a merciless killer of innocents he was not! Sheathing blade and drawing pistol Atma progressed through the stark white hallway, emptying a round noisily into the head of an ingrate on his cell, facing the closed front door. Upstairs a man screamed, likely the bullseye of this whole escapade before a loud thud reverberated through the ceiling, silencing the issue.

Scarcely a moment passed before the man was near senselessly barrelling up the stairs, where a sane man might consider another path this mercenary rolled the dice with lady luck, his pluck outweighing bad fortune as the shotgunner shredded the stairs in a pre-emptively nervous shot as the result of an overly itchy trigger finger. Not taking any risks as his fine head of unkempy brown hair popped up nary an instant after a handful of bullets made their new home in the head of the assailant. Brains splattered across the victim the flak-vested idiot slumped beside the smoking shotgun shell. In a same sudden moment his partner barged through a bathroom door, aiming a single action army from the hip like he thought the world was some western, yelling about his partner as the other hand fumbled with straggling jeans. This one didn't even have a jacket, but he did seem to have a riot helmet.

It was the yelling that betrayed the poor fool to a guaranteed demise. Wordlessly, expertly, a neat shot to the fool's arm before the knee followed, collapsing this particular sack of shit squealing. So much for a silent approach. From the relative safety of the shredded bannister, Atma popped a hole into the moron's heart as he attempted to rise. If the cold eyed merc had spent time examining the collective rookies the discovery would have been not only that of them buying a single set of gear and dividing it - the doorman had the kneepads, least lucky of the draw - that the muchachos had radios affixed to them, painted with numbers in the teens. Due to his ignorance however, once the man had cut the face from the target after putting a stop to his pleading, he found uponattempting to exit a yard full of five thugs. Two pistols, one submachine gun and one shotgun pointed at him. Apparently one of these snots had drawn the short straw, he mused. As demands were barked the man thought only of how uncomfortable the folded face was in his back pocket but then it was supposed to be just a temporary solution, no?

"For the last time, raise your hands!" Came the irritable, high-pitched demand. Peculiar for a henchman, it must've been the self hatred that drove this mutt. Taking stock of the situation he was facing five goon through a kitchen doorway with not even a grenade to hand and a face decaying next to his arse. Had there been worse days? Possibly. Flinging himself into the hopefully solid brick wall, the man heard the shouting of guns and the smattering of their fire into the outer side of the stonework as he braced his arms about his head and torso. Playing a classic maneuver the man yielded a pained cry and kicked a length of door amongst the glass strewn across tiled floor. Listening intently it became apparent the walls were thick and ready, this man had plenty of enemies after all. As one of the fools came forward brandishing his MP5, no sooner did his hands clear the doorway than did Atma snatch it from the capricious moron. Didn't he know to double-tap from a distance? Emptying one of few round remaining into the mans temple before the scream was uttered, the muscled man dived 'neath the window and sprayed the yard with gun spluttering over the splintered windowframe until a clack of empty magazine could be heard. A brief peek over the top with a shard of glass disclosed the fact they were dispatched, the bare yard having offered no cover.

Within an hour the man turned in the face to a man with a briefcase, received his pay and was told cleanup would be handled. Since that day many contracts strange and sound have passed through his handsm though not many have since asked for a face to be shaved from bone.

I like this RP sample. I have a thing for shaved off faces.

Fix the abilities (If you want) and this will have one of four approvals!
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Fri Sep 19, 2014 8:48 am

I completely forgot to rectify the abilities! Removed and replaced the snarky comment.
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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Fri Sep 19, 2014 10:30 am

Looks great!

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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Fri Sep 19, 2014 11:23 am

Certainly one of the best sheets I've reviewed.

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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Fri Sep 19, 2014 11:44 am

It's a nice improvement.

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PostSubject: Re: Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]   Fri Sep 19, 2014 11:52 am

Looking good, Alfie and him will get along great.

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Locked and Moved!
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Atma Noviski [Ver 1.0.1]
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