I'm planning to level all my alts up to 55. As of right now, I have 5 level 55s and a smattering of 40s. I am actively working on my BH who is at 41. After that, I will be working on a smug and a SW. I have a 45ish assassin that I play with my husband. In comparison to the other characters, it's slow leveling her. Although he does have the 12x xp, he doesn't play nearly as much as I do and I only play her when he is online.

That didn't work. This morning, after accessing the mail in game, there was nothing beneath the Stronghold Management Window. To get that to show up in that window, I had to travel to Nar Shadaa and activate it for zero credits.

I spent a good amount of time this morning searching for a way to get to my Nar Shadaa Palace. There wasn't any options at the place where you purchase the Stronghold at the fleet. To activate my free one, I had to go to Nar Shadaa's Stronghold terminal and activate it. It costs zero credits to do so.

I'm also having this problem too. It isn't just with the Silver Access Key; it's with the bronze as well.

No. Seeing as you need a product code to create an account, you will need to buy the game again to make a second account.

This is happening to me with Armormech on Ebon Hawk. Submitted a bug report about it.

A headshot of my operative named Prescost. Headshot Full body of her Full Body

Cyras Corvelli the main character of the book that I am currently writing

Female here too. I play with my husband. My first online game was EQ. In fact, the very first whisper that I got in EQ when I was five minutes into the game was asking if I would be someone's online girlfriend. lol. Back then, I didn't play with my husband because we only had one computer. At the time, we just laughed it off. I never tell anyone that I am a female. When i get on vent, they can tell. What they do then depends on the maturity of the individual. At the same time, I didn't think I was the only woman who games. I was sure that there was others like me. Like some women, I play a male character at times. One of my favorite RPGs is the witcher, who is a male protagonist. To me, the avatar doesn't represent anything about me. My SI is Dark 4 and no points in Light. Does that make me a sociopath? Nah. I am able to separate myself from what I'm playing. All my NPCs are is a bunch of pixels on the computer, any way.

Story Title : Crimson Revelations Link : http://www.swtor.com/community/showthread.php?p=1736602#post1736602 Author's name : ladywhiterose and princey

Chapter Two Vaene was dangerously over-focused as he made his way out of Lord Vitorre's estate. He was blinded to everything else. It was his arrogance. He feared nothing within his master's walls, not even Lord Vitorre himself. It would seem like Vaene was useful to the decrepit fool. Dalek had ordered him to do what he could not. Vaene was expected to infiltrate the abode of master's rival, kill him, and bring back proof. The act neither bothered him nor did it weigh on his conscience. After all, it was simply a power dispute between two Sith Lords. The young pure-blood was merely Vitorre's weapon. He knew his master expected him to die attempting this task. The fat man was a fool. He had no clue as to the true power that Vaene possessed. He had done all within his power to hide that strength from Lord Vitorre's attention. Had it been noticed, Dalek would have tried to kill him years before. Now he would be forced to unleash his power, and there would be no opportunity to hide it again. If he returned alive from the assassination, then Dalek would have to die as well. Vitorre would be fearful. If Vaene could kill one Lord, then he could kill another. That would be the rationale within Dalek's mind, Vaene thought. The old man would see it as self preservation in taking Vaene's life. However, there was something that made him uneasy within the estate, though he was not able to press it under his thumb. It felt like a pressure bubbling, frothing from unrestrained energy. He felt a brewing power, brooding in silence. He knew it wasn't Vitorre. That much was certain, he thought. Who, or what, it was eluded him. “He goes to kill the master's enemy,” a sultry voice purred, thick with seduction, interrupting his thoughts. He had never heard the voice before, but he instantly knew who was speaking. It was the slave girl, the one that was in the room with Vittore and him. Such a voice could only originate from the true species of Sith. Only a pure-blood could spark his interests in such a way. Vaene turned towards her, gliding his gaze over her sultry form. He took silent admiration of the sheer, ivory fabric that attempted to hide her sanguine flesh from him. The garment failed miserably as it gave her curves a hidden silhouette. Vitorre's hunger for the most exotic women would turn towards his own species. Hatred spread over him, blotting his soul with its fiery embers. Lord Vitorre was a hypocritical imbecile. He owned a pure-blooded as a slave, but he had the audacity to have one as his apprentice. It would lead to the other man's downfall. “He goes to do Vitorre's bidding, when it is Vitorre's blood he truly wants.” “Mind your tongue, slave,” Vaene growled, trying to keep his guard up. He might have had an interest in this particular woman, but he was no fool. It was very possible that Dalek, himself, had sensed Vaene's interest in her and had sent her as a trap. Even though it was a weak attempt, it was was not something that the coward would not resort to. She walked towards him. Her bare footsteps echoed, and he was sure that Vitorre's guards had heard him. The slave looked strange among the surreal paintings of women smuggled in from Coruscant, the large, purple petals of a flower acquired from Vjun, and large stone monuments of Dalek, commissioned from an artist on Alderaan. To Vaene, she looked like an Acklay amidst a treasury of rare holocrons. Both creatures were beautiful and deadly. “You speak out of turn. I should behead you for the mere suggestion. Lord Vitorre is always grateful when mutinous seeds are destroyed before they ever get the chance to spread roots.” If he meant to frightened her, he failed. Miserably. There was no fear dancing in her ardent twin orbs. In fact, fury roared off of her. He found the scent intoxicating. It tempted him to seek her delights, to give into her devious plans, and to give her everything that she wished in her penetrating gaze. Vaene knew if he was a weaker man, he would have. “You are wise to take care of who you trust,” the slave girl murmured as she stopped before him. Raising her hand, she ran her fingertips over his collar bone. Ivory need sizzled deep within him, faltering the rage that had been building since he had left Dalek's presence. The wanton desire mixed with the fury. It blended together, creating a powerful conglomerate that only a Sith would know how to internalize and feed upon. He would use the years of longing for this particular woman to exterminate Lord Vitorre's enemies. While the touch effected him more than he showed, he would not allow her to become privy to such an emotion. He would show no one weakness. When he took a mate for his own, she would not even be allowed into the innermost sanctum of his heart. Weakness was death. “I assure you that I wish the man dead, as well.” “Are you an idiot?” Vaene sneered. “You approach me in the man's estate and tell me these things. I should kill you for such stupidity. I'm not convinced that I won't, as a matter of fact.” There, he thought. For a brief moment, he saw the hesitation in her gaze. Whatever the woman was angling to get, he knew that she was questioning the value of it in regards to her life. It thrilled him to put this slave in her place. No one should be above their station. As soon as the fear bubbled to the surface of her eyes, it was replaced with arrogance. He understood that she knew how she effected him even before the words left her mouth. “You won't kill me because you can't stand the way that scum paws at me,” she spoke brazenly. The sheer audacity of it was enough to stay his hand. That, and she was right. The absolute truth of it stared him in the face as if he was looking into a mirror after consuming Jawa beer the night before. He hated the way Vitorre was with her. Vaene would never admit the jealousy that was flowing inside of him and burnt him to his core, nor the true reason of why he hated this woman. She represented a normal life far beyond what it meant to be Sith. In truth, she gave him power because of the emotions she inspired. “I'm much more perceptive than you think. Every look you think you steal at me, I see them. I see the look on your face when Vitorre puts his hands on me. I see the hatred in your eyes, powerful hatred, when you look upon him. You want to dance in his entrails. You have to do it soon, I know that, too. You're leaving for Korriban.” “How did you know that?” Vaene asked. Surprise rippled through his body. He never liked not knowing what he was dealing with. This female should not have startled him with her admission. Of course, he could not deny that she did. “I told you that I'm very perceptive.” “Just what are you suggesting?” Vaene growled, cutting straight to the point. Throughout his long apprenticeship, Vaene had never demonstrated any form of patience. When it came to listening to something, he wanted a direct answer. That trait would never change. “Poison Master Vitorre,” she cooed, trying to keep her voice smooth and seductive. He lifted his hand, running his fingertips down one of tendrils hanging from his chin. Vaene would not admit to her that he found it intriguing that she came to him. If he were to admit that, he would have to admit to the other nagging emotion that he felt around her. “Kill him and his other apprentices, and take what is rightfully yours.” “Poison?” Vaene scoffed. He hated the use of poisons. When he wished someone dead, he preferred to look them in the eyes as they died. It made the act more exciting to know his face would be the last his enemy would see. Their fear gave him power. Power would secure his own ambitions. “I would rather kill him face to face.” “There is value in subtlety sometimes,” the slave persisted. Passion shone in her eyes. It sparkled like moonlight gleaming off fire. He loved the way she talked about death. That part of her spoke to a primal part of him that he had annihilated long ago. “Subtlety is for cowards. I fear nothing. I am perfection personified.” “Then kill them all,” she suggested. The slave was a woman after his own heart. As blood-thirsty as he was, it would seem that he met his match. Of course, he was not planning to leave anyone alive in Lord Vitorre's estate. He looked at her through lowered eyelashes. Yes, it was true. Vaene did not plan on leaving anyone alive. The blood of the servants, the apprentices, and Lord Dalek, himself, would flow through the many halls of the estate. There was one exception: her. She stepped closer to him. Raising her gaze to his, he was struck by how much she did not act like a slave. The woman was too confident. He wondered what gave her the arrogance she possessed. Perhaps, it was because she knew that she was Vitorre's favorite. “There won't be a heart left beating.” “Good,” the slave uttered.

Crimson Revelations Version 2.2: PG 13 Chapters: 1 - 2 Download .Doc: N/A Warnings: Abuse, Language, Violence Updated Version: December 27, 2011 Author's Note: As with many of my writings, this is a collaboration between my husband, Princey, and myself Chapter One Anger, seething. Darkness. It bubbled within her, spreading to every fiber of her being. She could see nothing but red. Fury would be the fool's downfall. All who repressed her would fall under her eventually. The woman knew that as well as she knew anything else. Through passion, she would gain strength. Her strength would free her. The wet atmosphere clung to her ruddy skin. Beads of moisture slid down her upper arm, rolling down her fore-arm, and dripped off of her fingertips. Raising a hand, she pushed her dark hair off of her forehead. She was unlike many of her brethren. While many had facial appendages, she had none. With the exception of her skin tone, her high cheekbones, and small, raised ridges along her breastbone, she appeared almost human. She stared out the window, awaiting orders from her master. Lord Dalek Vitorre owned her. The woman clenched her teeth together, tightening her jaw. He governed what she thought. However, he would never truly own her. The woman had an unbreakable spirit She was able to take everything that Vitorre placed upon her, internalize it, and grow more powerful from it. Because she understood the ways of the Sith, she knew that her master would not own her forever. Dalek was a human, pretending to call himself Sith. How the weakling rose through the ranks to Lord was beyond her. Sighing, she turned back towards the figures in the room. Vitorre stared coldly at the hooded figure before him, a true blooded Sith. She had heard her master refer to the other man as Vaene. Vaene, Vitorre's apprentice, was everything that Dalek hoped to be. He was younger and slimmer than the human. His dark robes hung off the lean, muscular form of the man. Part of his ebony hair was pulled back and clasped by a slender, raven ribbon. Hatred raged deep within his dark, sanguine orbs. Because she was adept at remaining unseen by the most perceptive people, the woman knew that this apprentice had hated the man as well and had been plotting his demise for some time. She did not know the reason for his aversion to his master. It could be something as simply as hating every living being on Dromund Kaas. Yet, she was sure that there was something more to it than that. Vaene seemed more complex than to let his base anger guide him. "I've gotten a message from Korriban," Lord Vitorre said flatly. He sat behind a desk, staring down at the smooth, metallic surface. Refusing to meet Vaene's gaze, he stared at a datapad. It was a newly requisition datapad from one of his adversaries. The beige machine flickered in the dim light of his estate. Stretching across his pale, veracious complexion, a snarl graced his lips. As she picked up the various slender bottles, which once held some form of alcohol, from the table in the center of the room, she listened intently to the conversation between Vitorre and his apprentice. She surveyed the words of her master as a miner would glean knowledge from minerals. After all, it was smart to know what the future held for her. "It seems one of the overseers has taken an interest in you, Vaene," Dalek sneered. As the shadows grew longer, the ivory hair circling his head shimmered. Wisps of hair tried to cover the top of his head. Like the many ambitions of the man, the hair failed miserably in its task. His eyes sparkled with malice as he continued to stare at the information in his hands. "I don't know why. There's nothing extraordinary about you." "Yes, my lord," Vaene muttered. Lifting her gaze from the table, she found herself looking into his eyes. The flames of possession roared in his fiery, crystalline depths. His lips turned up into a brief smile. Vaene usually did not take joy in anything. He trained intensively, awaiting the day when he would confront her master. It did not surprise her that he was looking at her. Most always did. To most of Dalek's apprentices, she was something exotic. Her bloodline was diluted enough to make her resemble a human. Her luscious black hair covered the slightly raised ridges above her eyes. Unlike most of Vitorre's slaves, Cyras was the only pure-blooded Sith. With that fact, it would have been natural for Vaene to be drawn to her. He was the type of Sith that did not want his bloodline diluted. She knew he would not have any other woman unless she could prove her lineage. While she did not understand why her family was kept in servitude, she knew her ancient ancestors would prove her way out from underneath Dalek's thumb. It would take a fool not to realize that this apprentice would turn to her when he wanted to have children. She was everything but a fool. In regards to him, she had a different thought. The woman knew that she would never be expected to have children. She did not want brats running after her. Plus, she did not want a swollen figure. However, as with life, sacrifices had to be made. If securing herself as his mate would hasten his destruction of Lord Vitorre and ensure her freedom, it was something that she had to do. She sensed a darkness growing in Dalek's apprentice. To be removed from Lord Vitorre's services, she would have to approach Vaene and tempt him. The young woman knew exactly what her assets would be in attracting the apprentice as a mate (and bending him to her own will). It was a matter of subtlety and subterfuge. "I'll be glad to be rid of you," Dalek went on. His thick fingers gripped the datapad ruthlessly, wrapping around the squared, metallic edges. Rage pulsed off of him. He smiled thinly, his sadism in full display. "You'll probably be devoured by some beast or murdered by another student. Korriban is an unforgiving world. Most end up dead one way or another." Korriban, she thought. She would lose her only hope of escaping this fat excuse of a Sith to that harsh planet. While she did not think that the virile man standing before her would perish there, she knew that it was unlikely he would return to the jungle world. Also, she was plagued with the thoughts about how Lord Vitorre survived the planet. Surely, he could never hope to live up to the potential that the other pure-blood demonstrated. "Your shuttle leaves the day after tomorrow. See that you're on it." As she picked up the tray with the empty glasses, she departed into the hallway. She felt the hatred surge within her again. Two days, she thought, and she would either be stuck catering to Dalek's every whim or become the mate of a man she had never spoken to before. Still, the option of remaining in Lord Vitorre's care was the worse of two evils. She could neither face a reality that would keep her in servitude, nor could she be reduced to witnessing Dalek's pathetic potential anymore. Soon would be the time for action, she determined. The long plotted seduction of Lord Dalek Vitorre's apprentice would need to become a reality, immediately.

OOC: Excuse the various typos. Tried to get them all, but occassionally, they persist. My husband and I RP. We wrote this after a certain cutscene he had with one of his companions. IC: Dim light reflected off her dark, leather robes. Darkness lined the corridor, shadowing all in its inky embrace. She preferred the solitude in the star ship. It comforted her, speaking to a part of her that she carried since she was a slave. Even though she tried, that simple part of her could not be shed. It clung to her as if it was a large twisting branch of a deaden tree reaching for the poisoned sky of Quesh. Anger wrapped itself firmly around her like a cocoon. It seethed, bubbling vigorously at the edges of her mind. Unlike most of her kind, the pure-blooded female controlled her wrath. She was not a slave of her emotions. The young woman could bottle them up like a bartender placed a cap on a bottle of Jama Juice. Strands of lifeless, thin, ebony hair fell forward and covered her twin fiery orbs. Her thinning hair was a product to the mastery of the force. She suspected that she would loose all the features that made her beautiful by the time she massed the amount of power she wished. She sneered. Of course, losing her beauty was a small price to pay. When she had unlimited power, she would not worry about how she looked. People would look upon her and fear her. That was enough for her. Her footsteps echoed hollowly down the hallway. The air inside the ship wrapped its invisible, lifeless tendrils around her pale throat, trying to squeeze the anger out of her. Even with her intense control, she felt the rage sputtering inside of her like boiling water. The emotion hissed, splattering against her heart. She breathed in, focusing the searing emotion in front of her mind. “Lord Corvelli,” a soft, masculine voice called out to her. The false respect laced the edge of his voice like venom coating a blade. Without looking at him, she knew who he was. This man greeted her with her title whenever she boarded the ship. He welcomed everyone who was a higher rank in the military like a puppy welcoming his master home. She found his admiration to be valuable. After all, what woman in her right mind did not want to be greeted when she first arrived anywhere. “Should I inform Lord Arturis of your arrival?” Lord Arturis, her mind whispered to her. The anger clenched inside of her again. In its ferocity, she almost doubled over. The Lord of that particular ship belonged to her. It was fated since their former master, Lord Dalek Vitorre, had taken a pure-blood as an apprentice. Because of another circumstance, she did not want the owner of the vessel to know that she was there. It was ironic in a sort of way. Even though she had her own ship, a well equipped Fury, she preferred to travel on his vessel. The pirate knew how to fly the starship, and she wanted to be close to her mate. “No, Captain,” she growled. Fury welled up inside of her again. She was unable to push it down. Like a wild fire racing among dead brush, it raged and forced her to see anything but red. Of course, she should have basked in the glorious emotion. “Very well,” the dark haired man replied. “He is in his chambers.” Lord Corvelli did not need to ask what his master was doing in his chambers. The woman already knew. Whether it was by looking at star maps or reading background reports on his targets, he always was one step ahead of those who he sought to destroy. It was one of the reasons that he was the Right Hand of his master. Her mate, Lord Arturis, was perfection. His sanguine skin sang of his ideal heritage. As seen by tests on Korriban, she knew that the red marks were diluted amongst the higher hierarchy of the Sith. It was no surprise that her Lord would take another Sith Pure-blood as his mate. Even as diluted as she was, it did not matter to him. His own blood would counteract the high traces of human in her own. Their children would go on to become powerful Sith, repopulating the Order with their kind. Instead of going to his chambers, she veered left. Others would thought her lost. She had been on that ship many times. In truth, she knew exactly where she was going. For her acceptance (or the illusion of her freedom) of his demand, she had one request of him. He was to remain faithful. Although she felt strong emotions, she did not require it because she loved Lord Arturis. Love rarely played a part in the marriage and relationships of Sith Lord. Their arrangement was about strength and power (along with populating the ranks of Sith with their children). With her pure-blooded mate and their combined strengths, they would be able to remove their respective masters. Pushing her hair from her face, she inhaled. She reached up and pulled the leather hood over her hair and face. The shadows comforted her, stoking her fury. Standing in the doorway of her target destination, she let her eyes adjust to the sparse lightning. Again, the anger inside of her churned. Red haze colored her gaze. She would have liked to relish in the fury, basking in its blinding ambiance. The emotion was as seductive as any cantina slave. The engine hummed quietly, vibrating through the ship. Lord Arturis always took excellent care of the ship and made upgrades to it whenever it was possible. She thought it was one of the ships with the most defense in the galaxy. Of course, her pirate friend would state that something could always be added to the Fury. In the middle of the floor, bathed in complete darkness, her mate's apprentice sat. Like Lord Corvelli, dark shoulder-length hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her hands rested on her knees. As she waited for the other woman to notice her, she knew she would be waiting for quite some time. She understood what the other woman was doing. Much like she was not to long ago, Lord Arturis' apprentice was trying to focus on her anger and bring the emotion to the center of her mind. Of course, she knew what the fury was about. She understood that, also. They both shared a twin wrath. In fact, the apprentice was the reason why she was on that ship in the first place. It would have been regret if Lord Corvelli had the ability to feel compassion. The other woman was not paying attention to anything else, a product of her inexperience. Growing up underneath the thumb of Lord Vitorre, her former master, Lord Cyras Corvelli knew that being unaware of her surroundings would lead to abuse and death. Her mate's apprentice did not have that background. It was foolish to think about. This woman thought she was safe on her master's ship. After all, nothing would have the audacity to attack him. The apprentice worshiped her master, becoming blind to anything else. Nothing could be further from the truth. Lord Corvelli knew the sadistic tendencies of Lord Vaene Arturis. He threatened to skin people and eat them raw. While many thought it was an intimidation tactic (or a joke at worst), many did not know about her mate's unusual appetite. He would never consume a pure-blood, but he had no qualms thinning out the rest of the galaxy's population. Though the current threat was from an outside source, the apprentice was not even entirely safe with Vaene. He was certain to kill her if she ever failed him. “Hello, underling.” The apprentice stood up, kowtowing in fear. While the other woman did not shake, Cyras could smell the fear wafting off of her. If she was not as trained as well as she was, she would have missed it. Anger welled up as Cyras gazed upon her. The only part of her that was visible to the other woman was the bottom of her pale chin and her lips. Black raced along her upper lip, completely covering it, and a small strip of ebony snaked vertically down the middle of her bottom. It was a striking complexion that Lord Vitorre had forced her to wear before Vaene had secured her freedom. Silence stretched between them. Cyras liked the uncomfortable sensation roaring off of the other woman. Anger continue to build inside of her and threatened to reach a crescendo. The fury and uncomfortableness mixed and jerked together, combining into a powerful explosion. “What do you need, Lord Corvelli?” the other woman questioned carefully, trying her utmost to show the Sith Lord her due respect. Lord Arturis's apprentice had not been Sith long, and she was unfamiliar with the protocol. Cyras knew the best she could do was imitate how her master would act in that situation, and the other woman had guessed right. It was too bad that Lord Corvelli did not care about that. “Your pain!” Cyras snarled as she brought her hands up gracefully. Violet lightning arced from her fingertips, into the apprentice's body. The other woman cried out in pain, her back arching. Branches of lightning glided gracefully over the curves of her breasts, the flat of her stomach, and planes of her hips. The burnt smell of fabric was alluring to Lord Corvelli. Cyras was unrelenting, continuing her torture of the woman she viewed as a rival until she collapsed to the floor, still screaming and writhing in pain. Anger continue to flow through her, driving her motives. She called upon it and released it in jolts upon the apprentice. Shock after shock jolt entered the younger woman's body. Her screams were a symphony to Cyras, enticing the Sith Lord to increase her attacks like a Nexxu around the smell of blood. It excited her as it urged her into a frenzy. Lord Corvelli stopped for a moment. A cruel smile touched the corners of her mouth. “What is the meaning of this?” the apprentice managed after catching her breath. The mere question infuriated Cyras more than anything. If Lord Arturis had not accidentally left the com link open, she would never had considered this other woman a rival. Had she thought about the simple issue, she would have understood that her mate had left the channel open on purpose. Perhaps, he wanted to show her how desirable to others he was. He was conniving like that. “What have I done to deserve this?” “You forget your place,” Cyras hissed, “and you forget mine.” Reaching up, the apprentice pushed sizzled hair out of her face. Most of her skin was unblemished. Cyras knew that the apprentice would not take on the physical appearance of her attack until later that week. It was the same as being struck by lightning. Wounds did not show up right away. “I am a Lord of the Sith. I need no reason to do this. I could kill you on a whim, and no one would care or remember you.” Inciting more of her ire, the apprentice did not answer her. Like a willful child, she simply stared up at the looming Sith. Hatred rolled off of her, and Cyras delighted in making the other feel as she did. She wanted to see her ruin, falling on her knees before her. However, she knew that her mate had taught his apprentice well. That would never happen. Again, lightning arced from her fingertips crackling into the apprentice's body. She wanted to teach her a lesson, something that she would never forget. There would be no forgetting her or her lesson. Crying out once more, the other woman moved spasmodically from the pain wracking her. She jerked forward and backward on the floor. For a moment, Cyras was reminded of a fish out of water. Vaene's apprentice had the intellectual capacity of one, she thought, bitterly. Cyras relented once more, taking a moment to rest. She allowed her distaste of the woman to build inside of her. Clenching her teeth together, she glared at the trash on the floor before her. Silence stretched before them again. The smell of the other's burnt flesh and garments, mixing in the air, provided an inebriating aroma. “If you must know, underling,” Lord Corvelli threatened, expressionlessly, “I see the way you eye your master and heard the way you talked to him. You fail to remember that not only is he above your station, Vaene belongs to me.” When the other woman opened her mouth to protest, Cyras already knew what she would say would be a lie. There would be no way that Lord Arturis would prefer her over the woman he liberated. Cyras shared a bond with her mate. It was something that she would deny if asked about, but the bond was still there. After all, the emotion for him was what drove her hatred for him. “So I will remind you with pain. There will be no other reminders,” she continued, gnashing her teeth as she spoke. As the other Sith was enveloped in the violet streaks emerging from Cyras's fingertips, she convulsed uncontrollably on the floor. If anything, the lesson for the apprentice would have been that there was no where safe for her. “If that fact slips your mind again, you will die.”

I would say it's a bug. I duo with my husband for every quest on our mains and alts. My 43 sorc is at Social Rank 5 and my 18 operative is at Social Rank 2 (808/1550).

You need a new copy of the game (specifically for the registeration code). You can use the same billing information. My husband and my game are on the same card.