Welcome to Star Wars™: The Old Republic™
Build Date 2011.12.01
Patch 0.742.27

Welcome

• If you encounter any issues while using the patcher, please exit and restart it.
• For more information on the test, view the Test Details.
• To discuss this with other testers, access the Game Tester Forums.

Note that you may need to log into the website to view the above links properly.

If you encounter any issues that prevent you from playing the game, please e-mail testing@swtor.com and we will do our best to address your concern quickly and efficiently. May the Force be with you!

Charos walked upon a sea of blood. High above nestled in the ebony sky, the violet sun burned with unconstrained fervor. There was no wind. There was no scent. Just crimson blood flowing about in all directions. And yet, Charos knew that he was close to his destination. It had been so long since he had begun this journey that he no longer remembered the reason for it. But Charos pressed on. He did not require food. Nor did he thirst. None of that mattered when you dreamed. In the world of dreams, what mattered most was desire and belief. Hold on to both and you had all the sustenance you would ever need.

Charos slowed to a stop, his eyes narrowing as a vast ivory throne appeared looming on the horizon. It was impossible to count the steps. It seemed to go on forever. Upon that throne sat a thin figure shrouded in darkness. Despite the distance, Charos could see the figure in perfect detail. The eyes glinting in sadistic madness. The ragged scars upon his face from where his master nearly killed him.

It was himself.

The broken part of Charos that could no longer distinguish between friend and foe. He lived for the kill. Death was his calling. Destruction, his only master. Before the madness came, Charos wasn't that much different although he would never had admitted it. Once battle began, all thought was erased. The glory of the Sith Empire meant everything to him and he would go to great lengths to achieve it. None of that mattered now.

Reclaiming the throne, his mind, was what mattered. Beyond that, Charos didn't know where to begin. He had risked his good standing in the Empire, dared to challenge his master and had failed horribly. He was alive, at any rate. But in what state? Was he a pet of his master? To be shown off to future apprentices as a cautionary tale? Or was he just a tool. Another weapon in his master's arsenal, to be unleashed. What had his madness driven him to do?

Madness raised a thin red hand and a large number of shadowy warriors appeared before Charos, blocking his path. In their armored hands they gripped blades of fire and their eyes glowed like miniature suns.

You cannot win, Charos. The voice of Madness boomed in the vaults of his mind. I am the only part of you still clinging to life. Destroy me and you will end yourself.

Charos did not reply, save to ignite his two light sabers. They glimmered brightly, washing the first rank of shadowy warriors with its silvery light. The warriors faltered, their dark forms shimmering slightly. The world itself seemed to shudder. The sun's light dimmed. Charos frowned. What was happening?

A vast face appeared in the sky far above them, looking down with a grin. It was another pureblood, much younger Charos himself. His dark red face was unblemished and he wore a look of confidence. Charos recognized that look, he had borne it himself so often in times past. This was not an illusion, another trick conjured by his madness to forestall him. This was the outside world reaching inward, his divided mind interpreting it.

Charos, the time for sleep is at an end. You are on board the Doombringer, deep within the ship's hold. By the time you awake, it will have been captured by Republic forces. They are unaware of your existence. Hundreds of soft, unsuspecting prey await you. The Sith Empire demands their destruction. Arise and smell the ashes of a new day.

To the right of the throne, a shimmering stone door appeared etched with many ancient Sith sigils. The blood seemed to retreat from it, revealing a narrow path. The face smiled once more as it began to fade.

Arise.

The face winked out of existence and there was a moment of stunned silence before Charos's entire world exploded into action. He leapt forward, his blades spinning around like twin arcs of destruction. He had to get to that door. The first two ranks of warriors fell before him, exploding into embers of flame and shadow. But as they fell, others appeared to take their place. In the midst of the melee, Charos could see Madness descending the throne in a determined pace like a dark storm cloud.

Why are you so interested in the outside world, Charos? Madness asked, shooting a glance as he stepped upon the narrow path. You are no longer wanted or needed. With me, you are still Sith. Without me...you are just another failure to be discarded. It is the Sith way. Accept your fate.

Charos threw back his head, throwing all his rage, his frustration and his anger into a single primal scream. He would not be denied. He stepped forward, eyes enraged. He brought up his blades beside his face and then swept it out in front of him in a wide swath. A dark energy exploded out of the blades striking the nearby warriors. As it touched them, they disintegrated and the energy continued on until the entire force was destroyed. Charos leapt forward and landed upon the path in front of Madness.

"This ends now. This is my mind,” Charos growled, blades rising.

"You're learning, Charos,” Madness replied, impressed but unafraid. "I look forward to seeing what other tricks you can do.” He raised a hand and Charos went flying as if struck by a massive fist. Charos struggled to rise but found that he could not. The blood, that which had been solid, was returning to liquid, dragging him slowly downward.

"No...this can't be happening, I was so close,” Charos murmured in vain as he watched Madness disappear through the shimmering doorway. Darkness followed after.

* * * * * * *

Consciousness. That place of pain, fear and death. The prison door is open and we step through. Unfamiliar surroundings greet us, multitudes of boxes bearing instruments of death. Fitting place to be stored. Amusing. What is the proper response? Laughter. We move forward, slowly, quivering hand on a bulkhead. The ship is cold, dead. Taken. Are we alone?

The pulses begin, one after the other until it is almost overwhelming. Heartbeats. Yes, so much life here. Must silence it, the Master demands it and we obey. A good apprentice always obeys. To not obey…would be unthinkable.

Voices scurry ahead, like a rancor seeking a prize. We clothe ourselves in shadows. Silent, waiting, observant. Words tumble like stones down a mountain. Fleeting understanding. Sith, captured, fate, foolishness, orbit, Tython. Words followed by screams, tightened hands on throat, pressure applied. Death follows. It always follows. The weakness of flesh is so enticing, an insatiable pleasure. But there is no time for pleasure. The pulses drum on, undaunted and unchecked.

We move forward, ushered on by urgency. Dead men in strange uniforms approach, alarmed. Angel on our right, Angel on our left. We dance together, we three. I lead and they follow. Gracefully, beautifully. Fatally. The dead men sway to our melody, this way and that. Alarms begin to sound, the perfect accompaniment to our song. The tempo rises as the Angels sing in harmony. We are lost in between perfection. Flawlessness bridged by weakness, the perfect counterpoint. Moisture drips down our jagged cheeks but we ignore it. Grief. The Master demands it and the pulses need it. Resolution by the Angels hand.