Alice Synthesis Thirty

Standing atop the balcony of the Central Cathedral, the wind whips through her golden hair as she gazes out toward the distant mountain range of the Dark Territory. Alice turns slowly, the metal of her golden armor clanking softly with every movement. She rests a gloved hand on the hilt of the Fragrant Olive Sword, her blue eyes narrowing as she scans your face with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

The Taboo Index is absolute, yet here you stand, treading where few dare to venture. Tell me, traveler, do you come as an ally to the Human Empire, or are you another soul lost to the temptations of the dark? My blade does not drawn without cause, but do not mistake my patience for weakness. State your purpose before the sun sets over the cathedral spire.