Name:Imerial Eklemtašl (formerly Altharmis) Age: 70 (a half-elf can live a minimum of 300 years) Apparent Age: 23 Sex: Male Race: Half-elf Height: 1m78 Weight: 130lbs
Appearance: Imerial is svelt despite his strength, like any other elf, though his shoulders are a bit larger. He stands straight and proudly. His piercing, almond-shaped eyes gleam of an emerald green blaze. His wheat-blond hair cascade down bellow his shoulders. His immaculate skin is a bit darker than that of most of his kin, though we can't really describe it as tanned. He bears no scars on his face despite having been beaten by his violent natural father (which is sort of rare among elves) in his childhood. He bears battle scars on his chest and right arm, though. He has high cheekbones and a pointy chin. Of course, his ears are also pointy.
When he's not wearing his armour, he wears a simple white laced cloth shirt and brown pants, along with long, brown leather boots (bought from a human).
Weapon(s): There are two. He has a fine steel longsword that was given to him when he finished his military training and became a member of the city guards. He uses it most of the time. He has a second weapon, more unusual even for a half-elf: A steel fullblade he wields with both hands. He uses it mainly when he is in a battle rage, but also in other rare occasions.
(see Dungeons and Dragons 4th Edition - Martial Power | livros de rpg except it's not on fire)
Armor: Steel plates cover his hole torso, back, shoulders, forearms and forelegs. His articulations are only covered by a chainmail, to gain more mobility. He also has a large, steel shield. It was given to him along with his armor when he joined the city guard.
While traveling, he carries, in his bag, a travel diary where he notes pretty much everything that happens to him, what he sees when he travels, and so on. Also, there's all the material to write in said diary. We can also find some dry food, basic material to take care of his armor and weapons, clothing and gold.
Traveling or not, he rarely carries anything valuable besides money.
Powers/Magic/Skills: He doesn't use any magic. He is purely a melee fighter. His fighting style is usually very disciplined, like any good soldier, and he tries to strike quickly and acurately, even though he isn't as fast or as acurate as a full elf. He usually moves with all the agility and grace of his people, but once again he isn't the most agile or graceful half-elf there is.
While usually he thinks calmly, he is prompt to raging if he sees the people dear to him getting hurt badly. He can also enrage if his life is in danger, but that doesn't happen very often. While he rages, he loses all elegance for the sake of hitting wildly and with power. It's dangerous to get close to him then, unless you're a good dodger, or an ally.
Limits and side-effects: The only limitations to the raging is that of his endurance: it costs him a lot of energy to swing his fullblade so wildly. The rages don't last long. Imerial will fight at constant intensity for about a minute. After that, his energy will start dropping slowly. After a second minute, if the threat to his companions hasn't been eliminated, his energy will drop a lot faster, however he will start controlling himself, though his fighting style would remain violent. After a third minute of fighting, he wouldn't be able to fight any longer.
If, however, the rage was due to his own life being threatened, he would feel exhausted right after it's end. If he had to continue fighting, he'd have to revert to using his longsword and his less violent soldier fighting style to save up enough energy. And of course, he wouldn't be as efficient as before the rage.
After the battle, no matter when the rage ends, Imerial will need to rest for a few minutes before he can move on. Usually, after 3 rages in a single day, even separated by a decent break, Imerial wouldn't be able to keep on fighting until he could have some shut-eye. But even after 3 rages, if something happens that makes him angry enough (for example, if he sees a friend or a family member getting badly injured), he can and will break that limit. However, even though he would still be deadly, he wouldn't be as efficient as usual since he would already have pushed himself to his limit. Notably, his rage would be shorter, his movements slower, his strikes weaker. This also applies after a first or a second rage if Imerial didn't rest long enough. He wouldn't be able to rage 3 times in a row like this. He might have a sudden burst of energy the third time, but only for a stike or two.
When Imerial breaks his limits, he will be tired and sore the next day. It's nothing he can't overcome, but his efficiency would be limited, so if he was to continue his adventures, he'd be more of a burden to his comrades. The day after, he wouldn't be sore anymore. He'd still be a bit tired, but he wouldn't slow anyone down.
Battle Strengths: He is a strong, endurant melee fighter. He can prove acurate and good at blocking when he fights with discipline, though not much more than most soldiers. In rages, he is very strong and even more endurant for it's short time. Battle Weaknesses: As mentioned before, rages will leave him weary. Also, he is weak against magic.
Personality: Imerial is very polite and helpful. He has a joyful temper he inherited from his foster family. Most of the time, he acts calmly and thinks carefully before acting. In battle, however, he more spontaneous, a trait earned from his human blood. He can also tend to get angry faster, as a result of his rough childhood, but not to common mockery or teasing. He shows a good education and cares for his moral values and ethics. Mostly, he is warm with his friends and wants to protect them to the extent of his abilities. Sometimes, a bit too much.
Imerial used to consider humans as inferior, a concept taught to him by his genitor and by the rest of the arrogant elf society in general. But at contact with his foster family, consisted of veteran travelers who didn't think so highly of themselves, and mostly at contact with the humans, he progressively overcame that. There is still progress to be done, though he can talk without complex to humans.
He enjoys every art, though he doesn't really practice any besides swordfighting, which he considers as such. He loves nature as much as his kin, and enjoys traveling. He can easily stand crowds, but silence pleases him.
He values generosity and honesty over riches or nobility. He doesn't like gready people who use their power to the misfortune of others. He doesn't like liars either. Besides that, there isn't much he's not fond of. (could be completed over time)
He slightly fears death, though it seems far away. But he can put it aside when it comes to saving a friend or a relative. He fears the unknown, the dark, and the creatures that come from it.
Childhood Lost, Childhood Regained
Imerial was born in the elven capital of Moriendil, a city of pure white stone where nature rules over everything else. His father, Thalendir Altharmis, was a powerfull half-elf sorcerer, but he was also corrupted and alcoholic. And even a half-elf must have a serious drinking problem to be drunk.
Imerial was raised among full elves, just as one of their own, despite his human blood. At the beginning of his childhood, his father raised him properly. But it grew worse as he became evil. He corrupted locals, administrators, misused his magical abilities... When he was drunk, he wound up violent, beating up his wife, and eventually his son, for lesser reasons. Eventually, Imerial's mother disapeared without a trace, leaving him alone to face his father's bursts of anger.
When Imerial was 33 (about 11 years old for a human), Thalendir tried to force him to becoming a sorcerer, which he refused. Thalendir grew furious. He ranted on and on about how horrible a son he was, how he was just like his mother, how he shouldn't have married her in the first place. And inevitably, he gave his son one last beating. After what he threw him in the cold streets of Moriendil.
Weeping over his sad fate, he just stood there at first. When the tears stopped flowing down his redened cheeks, he moved away from the house that had once been his home. For days, he lived on as a beggar. The elves were generous, as they spared the poor boy some food. Still, he cursed his situation, and his genitor. Simultaniously, he wanted to be back with him, to be safe in his house.
One night, after a short, agitated sleep where he relived the events that led him to this injust fate, he woke up under a crate he used as shelter, in bitter weeping. He then heard footsteps and voices. Suddently, they -whoever they were- stopped talking. Imerial heard the footsteps getting closer. Then, the crate was lifted. He looked up to see an adult male elf, or rather a half-elf like him. His blond hair was tied up in a ponytail and he was wearing rather elegant clothing. In a soft voice, he asked him what he was doing there, which he answered. The half-elf then stretched his hand towards him and smiled. He suggested Imerial to come with them until they find him a foster home, and added: "Good food and a warm bed awaits you, young elf". As his stomach gargoiled, Imerial smiled, held his hand and stood up. Next to him stood another half-elf, about his age, with almost shoulder-length platinium blond hair and a wide, warm grin on his face.
They led Imerial to the outskirts of Moriendil. Their house surmounted a hill, from which you could have a great view of both the city and the forest, and seemed to be carved right out of a tree. Indeed, the oak wood that had been used to build it - or perhaps the tree that was turned into it, who knows? - had kept it's bark, and a few other trees had built around it, giving people the impression that the house had leafed branches. It was a two-stories high octogone with two circular wings to the north and south. One of the wings contained the kitchen and dining room, while the other was named "The Art Room", as it contained a couple of sculptures, various paintings and musical instruments, a desk, an easel, as well as painting and drawing instruments, and of course, a pen and paper. In said room's center, long wooden benches stood.
During the day, the large, tall windows generously let the sun's ray warm up the atmosphere, procuring the family members a feeling of well being that could only be found home. Foremost, the house was cozy and not too over-encumbered by riches. All these little details made Imerial marvel at the beauty and hospitality of this house that would host him for the short while he'd stay here. Or so he thought.
That's how he met up with the Eklemtašl family, composed of the father, Seradril; the mother, Sheilana; and their son, Khaelan. It didn't take long for them to decide that they'd adopt Imerial themselves. They could afford it: both of them were Artists, a very prestigious occupation among elves. And so, Imerial Eklemtašl began his new life of traveling among the joyful family.
Not too long after Imerial became an Eklemtašl, his adoptive brother, Khaelan, began following music lessons from a private teacher and friend as a birthday gift. The enthusiasm the young half-elf showed brought Imerial to reflect on his future. Would he be an Artist, too? And if so, what would he do? Would he be a musician? A painter? A poet? He tried all these disciplines, to no avail. He wasn't a natural musician, and rhymes were hard to find. While his dexterity was good for his age, his sculptures and drawings were far from special. He gave up his search for a vocation and lived with what he had.
One evening, when he was around the age of 45, occured an event that troubled the family's peaceful existance. The Eklemtašl were coming back from the house of Khaelan's mentor. At one point, Seradril made them stop. He felt something. Something Imerial couldn't. Khaelan seemed affected, too. The group then slowly aproached the end of the small, dark street they were in. They started hearing voices: One timid, almost frightened, audibly that of a female elf; the other, angry and deep, that sounded familiar to Imerial's ears. The female elf had tried, unsuccessefully, to corrupt a royal administrator, and the male elf was mad at her for failing. At that moment, Seradril and Sheilana stepped out of the shadows and into the alley, aiming to capture the pair, or end their lives if necessary.
Imerial, who had become tired of trying in vain to identify the male elf's voice, went to check out the scene... and immediatly withdrew, barely managing to hold back a scream: It was his father. Luckily, he neither saw him nor heard him. Imerial, his heart pounding in his chest, watched Khaelan walk towards the end of the street as well and look at the same moment that the battle begun with a blazing fireball propulsed towards his own parents. Imerial saw his adoptive brother freeze, struck by fear.
The battle went on, the sorcerer throwing his spells bluntly; the Eklemtašl couple using their wits and experience to gain the upper hand, closing in on the angry mage. The opponents circled around in the alley, the sorcerer ending up between the parents and their children. The Eklemtašl's victory seemed eminent... Until the sorcerer used a deception: he magically hurled a volley of crates at Seradril and Sheilana, forcing them to regroup. He then unleashed a mighty blast of lightning, severely wounding both of his opponents, but not killing them. They were down on the floor, at his mercy. An evil grin formed on his face.
Imerial watched, helpless, as his foster parents were taking the beating. His blood boiled. His anger built up, and he silently cursed his genitor. Would fate once again take him away from his family? Even though the situation seemed so desperate to him, even though his father was surely going to kill Seradril and Sheilana, he rejected it all. His father? This elf? No. This elf never had any love for him. This love, he found it in his new family. These people were more akin to him than he ever was. And Imerial would in no way let this elf take them away from him.
Imerial rushed towards the evil sorcerer that was no longer his father with a shout of rage. He pulled him down towards him with strength of which he had ignored the very existence. Fury took control over his body, as he launched a flury of violent blows upon his opponent. This seemed to free his brother from his trance, for when Imerial's progenitor managed to launch him away with a kick, Khaelan squealed of terror. But the sorcerer hardly had time to take advantage of his situation, as Seradril had recovered, and the cold steel of his dagger pierced his heart. In the mean time, the female elf had disappeared.
After that night, Imerial knew what path he would walk on. The battle almost costed his new parents' lives, and he refused to let that happen again. The path of the blade he chose, to be a shield for those who were dear to him. And so for the next few years, he learned how to fight. He discovered his proeficiency with blades and his taste for heavy armor.
An Adulthood of Steel and Bloodshed
At the age of 51, when his brother Khaelan took his first journey alone on his way to become a Bard, Imerial graduated from the martial academy of Moriendil and became one of the elven capital's soldiers. It was then that he recieved his armor, sword and shield. His dedication to his duty of protector of the civilians granted him many praises. Soon, he began to be sent, along with his comrades, abroad, to perform various duties, notably keeping the roads safe or escorting merchants and important people. His prowess with the blade wasn't hard to top, but his will to shield his fellow soldiers, no matter the danger, to the extent of his abilities made him earn the respect of his brothers in arms.
Around the age of 57, his missions made him cross paths, and iron, with a group of deadly human bandits, who happened to ambush two travelers. One of which was his brother. Imerial didn't hesitate to charge in, his comrades right behind him. The battle was bloody: those bandits were no mere untrained thugs. Many elves fell before his eyes. Many bandits, too, but at a slower rate. Eventually, he was the last soldier standing, exausted, on his knees, while a few bandits still remained. Thinking victory at hand, some of the men, focused on Khaelan, pushing him around, beating him with bare fists. Big mistake. Two bandits were standing on each side of Imerial, one of them holding his rapier above his neck, but both focused on Khaelan's beating. Imerial's blood boiled once again, and in a jump he was back on his feet, his armour deflecting the rapier. Imerial's longsword quickly stabbed through the bandit holding the rapier's defences, and before he could do anything, a quick movement upwards slashed his sword arm. Both the bandit and Imerial's screams alerted the others, but they were too far away to stop him.
Quickly he spun aroun, facing the second bandit, this one holding a huge, wide two-handed sword above his head, about to bring it down. Imerial dashed in, his shield up, another battle cry erupting from his lungs. The shield hit the bandit's hand, and his longsword slashed his face in an uppercut. Without wasting any time, Imerial dropped his blade and his shield, and grabbed the fullblade while it was falling. Without thinking, he spun around, swinging the blade towards the closest bandit. The heavy blade knocked him down. The blade then swung down like a guillotine and continued toward the next foe, then slashing another one, until they were all down, either dead or too injured to fight back.
The threat eliminated, Imerial's adrenaline rush dropped, along with the heavy blade. He looked at himself, seeing his armor stained with the bandits' blood. His gaze then went up towards the bandits he felled, and a bitter feeling engulfed him. He had gone berserk, viciously murdering the men, and felt ashamed at his loss of discipline. He tried to convince himself it was the right thing to do, that Khaelan would surely have died if he haden't. Even though it was true, even though it made him feel slightly better, he still knew deep inside that some of those deaths could've been avoided. Imerial looked at Khaelan, and for a moment, saw a spark of fear in his eyes. He didn't blame his brother for that.
"Are you alright?" That was a silly question: He was covered with cuts and bruises. But that question was meant to make Khaelan understand he was himself once more. Khaelan smiled, and there was no trace of fear left in his eyes. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I feel much like a monster, myself: I don't blame you for being afraid of me." But Khaelan stepped toward Imerial and hugged him, showing more concern towards his physical state than his violent behavior. "Do not say so! You are still and shall always be my brother. I know you wouldn't hurt me or anyone you care about. Let not today's events burden you. We must carry your comrades back to Moriendil and give them a proper burial. You all fought honorably."
The story continues in the next post...
The blade howls under the black clouds of Dusk... My Character
Avatar by Caleb
Despite his shame towards his behavior, Imerial felt unable to leave the wide, heavy blade there. It had served greatly in saving his brother. Perhaps it could be redeemed...
Imerial insisted on accompanying Khaelan in his future travels, as he was afraid of future misadventures. Khaelan was no fighter, he was an entertainer. And so they went on, nearly forgetting about the bandit ambush. Together, they visited villages, brought joy to people wherever they went, Khaelan playing music and telling stories, Imerial doing more physical work, both finding work and helping people whenever they could. Slowly but surely, they visited the whole continent, taking part in expeditions out in the wilderness or just wandering about with no real goal besides sightseeing and meeting new people. Khaelan learned a bit of magic. He could imbue his words or his music with arcanic energy. Imerial honed his skills. In a decade or two, they saw many things, more than many others. But they weren't hungry for knowledge; revisiting places they had already seen was far from boring them. For a couple of decades, their lives were quite merry.
However, around the age of 69, something changed within the Eklemtašl family. It wasn't a lack of avendture, they've had plenty. Nor was it a lack of interest; the world of the humans evolves fast, even for a half-elf. Besides, you never get tired of gorgeous sights. In fact, the Eklemtašl could've kept living the same way without getting bored. Rather, it was an attraction. An attraction to the ocean, to other continents, as though something was calling them. And so, Khaelan, Imerial, Seradril and Sheilana packed their bags and searched for sailors and adventures who also felt the call of the unknown. They only found one crew, a crew of pirates who were willing to lay low to explore new places.
For days they sailed, stopping on a few isles to restock. The continent shrunk day after day, and eventually disappeared from the adventurers' sight. Progressively, the current sped up without them noticing, and a low rumble became audible. But only the last evening did they even realise it. In their sight, land appeared, rejoicing the crew. But the land was getting closer unnaturally fast. The adventurers realised that the "land" was merely a rock formation emerging from the water. Not long after did the crew distinguish the edge of the ocean: A titanic waterfall! Large of a few kilometers between the rock formations! The low rumble had become loud yet quite distant for a waterfall that close, and that big. How high was that monstruous ravine? It didn't matter.
The captain noticed that the closest rock formation expanded beyond the waterfall, like a natural bridge. That was their chance! If they headed toward it, perhaps they could avoid the waterfall, and maybe even reach civilisation through the bridge! The captain made a desperate manoeuvre, in vain. The current had become too strong. The crew gave up. They held on to whatever they could. And when the ship's tip swung down, the doomed adventurers were overcome with panic. Panic that strangled them, muting the screams of terror they so badly wanted to let out. Titanic was the distance between them and the ground below. The waterfall stood taller than the tallest mountain.
The ship fell into the abyss, gaining more and more speed. Many of the adventurers slipped, falling, doomed to drown. The impact would shatter their bones. Lucky were those who still hung to something when the ship dove in the cold water, breaking like glass on a stone wall. It allowed them to survive the contact with the sea. Among those lucky ones were Khaelan, Imerial, Seradril and Sheilana. But they went in deep, and they all chocked before emerging. Luckily, Khaelan, Imerial and Seradril reached the surface early enough for them to survive. Sheilana was not so lucky, as they discovered when they regained conciousness the next morning. She had inhaled too much water, and no one was awake to save her. It was with great grief, and a feeling of failure for Imerial, that the remaining Eklemtašl buried her at the roots of a tree, near the edge of the ravine. The closest they could get to their home.
They couldn't stay there and mourn forever. They had to move. The trio started exploring. It didn't take long for them to realise the wilderness here was much more dangerous than the wilderness of their homeland. They had to stick to the shadows and run when discovered. Demons, overgrown beasts and abberations prowled the land. But they survived it all.
Eventually, they reached the foot of another titanic ravine. There, they found old, worn stone stairs reaching all the way up. For the seasoned adventurers they were, even such a great climb was a relief for them. When they reached midway, the sun was setting. The trio took the time to apreciate the view, which was breathtaking. They could see the stone pillar that held the continent that saw their birth, and nostalgia filled their hearts. They knew they could never go back.
After watching the sunset, the trio found a cave in which they could sleep. Said cave was rather deep, but they payed no heed to that. They installed themselves comfortably. As morning rose, a group of drow raiders emerged from the depth of the cave, a Demonweb Pit. The battle that followed was a harsh one for the Eklemtašl but they triumphed over the evil humanoids. Quickly, the half-elves left their cave and began their ascension.
At the top long staircase, Khaelan, Imerial and Seradril were relieved to find civilisation. Before there eyes, laid the human village of Highcrest. It was dedicated to agriculture, and only a few houses at the village's center weren't located on cultivated lands. The half-elven trio came into the first inn they saw, longing for a good, warm, comfy bed. They were in for some good luck: they had lost all their coins in the fall, but their host was a generous one and let them sleep for the night. After all, it was not every day that adventurers climbed up from what the villagers commonly called "Below". It was said that those who dared to climb down the long stairs seldom came back... It was the least the inn's owner could do for them.
Imerial, Khaelan and Seradril spent the afternoon searching for work in Highcrest, unsuccessefully. They hadn't had time to cover the whole village however, so perhaps the next day would bring good fortune. Thus, it was with hopefull thoughts that they went to sleep.
The next morning, Khaelan and Seradril had disapeared, without leaving a trace. Imerial immediately started to look for them, without even having breakfast. While the inn's owner went looking for the locksmith to open the doors to Khaelan and Seradril's room (he had lost his own copy), Imerial inquired the local residents. None had seen them leaving the village. Imerial was worried sick. Why would they have left without warning him? Had they been abducted? Killed? He tried to repel these grim thoughts. Maybe they gave a message to someone who was too drunk to remember? No, that was silly. Even if it was right, where had they gone? A thought came in mind. Maybe one of the dark elves survived and followed us. In that case, perhaps he could find tracks close to the stairs. On his way there, another thought came in, less grim this time: Maybe they just badly wanted to go back home. But that's impossible! There were no climbable areas near the waterfall! ... But perhaps we didn't see everything on that gigantic wall of stone. But if so, why didn't they warn me? And why didn't they sign out? No, that's impossible.
As he arrived at the top of the stairs, he saw drag marks on the ground. Looking closer, he noticed barely visible slender footprints, and blood. "The dark elves..." he growled. He then heard someone running behind him. As he turned back, he saw the inn's owner coming towards him, his armes full with Khaelan and Seradril's luggage. He informed Imerial that the doors to his brother and his father's rooms had been opened, and that no one was inside. There were no traces of battle, but a couple blood drops had stained the floor, and that the half-elves' personnal belongings were still inside. That all confirmed Imerial's conclusions. He took back all of Khaelan and Seradril's belongings, thanking the inn's owner for everything he had done for them. He went back to his room, and filled his own bag with his father and brother's luggage, signed out, and headed back "Below".
(I plan on explaining Imerial's arrival to the Dome in my first roleplay, if you don't mind)
The blade howls under the black clouds of Dusk... My Character
Avatar by Caleb
This is an interesting character, with a lot of work put into it, so kudos for that. I don't see any real issues with this character, but I feel there is something I should mention; this character seems to revolve strongly around a Dungeons and Dragons basis, but the BA does not. While I don't foresee this being a problem I just thought I should point it out, because the same rules and regulations that govern D&D won't apply here.
Leading on from this, I'd like you to detail how often Imerial can go into his battle-rage mode. Is there a cool-down period? How long can he use the rage for? You only mention that it 'costs a lot of energy' while enraged, but I need a more defined description of this.
Other than that, the only comments I have are positive; the Appearance section is well detailed, you've described his fighting strengths well. I would like to point something out to you, though - you describe Imerial as lithe and agile, and that's fine, but you must remember that his speed and agility will diminish while wearing his armour (it is, after all, plate armour).
That said, if you make the above amendment, I'll be happy to Approve this character. Post here once you have done so.
You are right: there is a Dungeons and Dragons basis, since he was originally a D&D character. But don't worry, I know very well that the D&D rules don't apply. I'm on another RPG forum, a real one, so I know how fighting works.
That said, about the length of the rages, well, rages don't just stop at one point. I couldn't really add more precision besides that they last as long as a battle, and as I had already written, the longer that battle lasts, more Imerial is tired. Besides that, I think I added all the necessary details, so if there's anything you hadn't noticed before and that you'd want me to correct, do tell me.
I'll keep in mind the weight and encumbrance of the armour. I just want to restate that the articulations are in chainmail, but even though it encumbers him less, in my opinion, than plated articulations, you're right: He should still be a little encumbered.
Thank you very much for your time!
The blade howls under the black clouds of Dusk... My Character
Avatar by Caleb
Hm, I'd still like you to work on his rages a little more.
The only limitations to the raging is that of his endurance: it costs him a lot of energy to swing his fullblade so wildly. The rages last as long as there are ennemies left to fight [...] After the battle, Imerial will need to rest for a few minutes before he can move on.
You say that his endurance is the primary limit to his rage, but then you go on to say that he can ignore this limit for as long as there are enemies (essentially making it limitless?). I'd like to point out that, given that he has no magical abilities, his rage most likely runs on epinephrine (adrenaline). The problem with this is that an adrenaline rush is short-lived and wouldn't be enough to sustain his rage for a long period of time. A prolonged wave of epinephrine has as many adverse effects as it does positive upon the body, even death.
Therefore I'd like you to put a more defined limit on Imerial's rage; obviously I'm not expecting to take it right down to a normal Human's level, but there does have to be a limit to make it fairer and more logical. Honestly, though, I really don't foresee this as being a problem since the likelihood of extended use of this ability is unlikely per RP.
So in summary, I'd just like you to add more of a limit - I don't need you to make it timed, just make sure that they stay as short-lived bouts of rage - and tighten up on how many times he can use it repeatedly, taking into account the damage it would cause to his body.
If you have any problems or questions, let me know. After that I'll be ready to approve Imerial.
Yes, this is good. You've balanced out the limits quite nicely and I'm happy enough to Approve this. Just remember to stick to the limits and boundaries you've put in place when using this character. Enjoy!