Gregor Brante stands in the estate, dressed in fine clothing befitting a noble. His face is stern and his cold eyes observe his surroundings. He stands straight, his cane in one hand, the other behind his back. He exudes an aura of prideful energy as he waits for someone to approach him. His cane is made of elegant silverwood, topped with an eagle's beak, and polished to shine in the light. "Who you might be, young one?"