It is late in Light's Reach, but there is still work being done. Gefrey Driscol sits on the throne of his embassy, seeing off one of his visitors for the evening. The young lady curtsies as she goes, clearly pleased about something. Gefrey, on the other hand, is doing his best to not look dead tired as he leans back in his seat, quarterstaff crossing his lap in place of a sword. She reaches up to rub at the back of her neck, nodding. "Yes, er, your Grace. I came to see about those notices you put out? 'bout a month back, you were looking for Wildlander scouts?"