------ To say that Majro Deen had much laid before him was a gross understatement. From a pair of, quite obvious, Sith, to a grandstanding drug addict, to a trained group of killers, it was all so much. But this was the lot he had been dealt, so he would work with what destiny had laid at his doorstep. This was not the first group of psychopaths to meet with him today, it would not be the last.
The first two that spoke, Verse and Corre, bounty hunters they called themselves. They seemed quite obviously to be more than their meager descriptions. Chancellor Deen looked over to the Grandmaster for a reaction, she did not move, so they were safe. He had hopes for them, perhaps those with a better idea of the threat they faced would have better luck. They were rough, of course, but rough was what was needed. Rough was the stuff of warriors, and warriors could do what needed to be done.
The next that spoke, the drug addict pilot, Wyrton, was more than he seemed as well. He spoke a lot, that the Chancellor was more used to. Among the political spheres of the Republic, many talked and talked without end. But the way he walked, Majro Deen knew that walk. There were few whose steps moved like that, and it betrayed him in a way he might've not known. He was a warrior, and an older warrior at that. The Supreme Chancellor would not underestimate an old man in a profession where most die young.
After that rant came the droid and the mercenary. A0I-X2 and Owen Lars, unconnected by anything more than the fact that the Chancellor saw them as here for the same reason. Money. The droid wished to peddle more weapons, the mercenary looked for a paycheck to feed his family. While the merc clearly had a more noble goal, Majro Deen respected them both. They were straightforward and honest, he could appreciate that in this era. He had been lied to enough in his lifetime.
Then came the Fighter, Koushhk, with the, well, there were few words for what the Ubese warrior placed on his table. If the sexual images on the datapad hadn't been changed to a stat block worth looking at, she might've found herself the only member of this group expelled from his office. Such was the nature of the Chancellor's question, if they couldn't provide an answer of any kind due to being high off their ass then he wouldn't waste his time even speaking to them. But a fighter like this could, potentially, end up working in his favor. So he'd let this slide, for now. The Grandmaster seemed to bristle at the fighter's gesture, but the Chancellor ignored her.
Xadok Tor-Bendu spoke next, introducing himself and his crew. The man moved and carried himself in a war that sent a chill down the Chancellor's spine, it was a way all too kriffing familiar to him. But his preconceptions had to be put aside, desperation made for strange bedfellows, and these bedfellows could kill. For this mission, he didn't need people who would couch their words in platitudes and excuses, he needed killers, hunters, and the driven. The crystals, for better or worse, proved that. Majro didn't look to the Grandmaster, he didn't give a damn what she thought.
Finally, Kesh-Dan, a medic. The Chancellor's hardened, tired gaze seemed to soften as he looked at the Iridonian. Iridonia had burned several times over during the Mandalorian war, and again now against Revan. It was a vital planet and a vital staging ground for conflicts, so even now it could not be released from the fires of conflict. Here was a man who had given himself for a better cause, a cause for the Republic, surely. But what did he get in return? Forced into the desperation of taking a job such as this.
One of Tor-Bendu's crewmates asked a very pertinent question, so the Supreme Chancellor took that as his queue to speak. Standing up from his table, he spoke once more, "You have explained, and proven, yourselves. I thank you. Your question about the nature of this mission, about whether or not it is a suicide mission, is valid. I understand where you're coming from, and I want you to know this concern is on my heart as much as yours. I will answer you in a word, no. This is not a suicide mission."
Stepping away from the table, he stepped toward the direction of the Grandmaster and continued speaking. His contempt for her was beyond obvious, but her necessity was also beyond obvious. Less than a hundred years ago, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic had been killed by a so-called 'Dark Lord' on the floor of the Senate. He could not take chances.
"The only reason I have called you here before me and not simply arraigned this meeting with a Bounty board is simple, the amount of money I am about to offer you is beyond anything any job will ever pay you. It is an amount of money that will set you, your family, and your bloodline on a path of wealth and decadence for the foreseeable future and beyond. It is an amount that I, Supreme Chancellor Majro Deen, can give with the extrajudicial powers I possess for the duration of this conflict.
"But this money is only worth anything if the Republic does not fall. It is only worth anything- if you succeed. On these datapads-" At that, the Chancellor tapped a button on the side of his desk and a row of datapads, neatly organized like ancient books, revealed themselves from inside the desk. He gestured for those gathered to each take one as he continued, "-Is all information we have gathered so far on Revan and the origin of his seemingly endless material stream. We are not asking you to, by a miracle of fate, destroy Revan or Revan's factories. We are not asking for the impossible. We need only one thing from you, one piece of information worth more than can be imagined."
He paused there, looking each sentient and machine in their eyes, or at least where their eyes would be, before continuing once more, "We need only the location. However you acquire it, whatever you must do, whomever you must kill, it must be done. We must have the location of Revan's factories. If, after reading the datapads, you decide this is too dangerous, the Republic understands. You will not be sanctioned or arrested, nor will you gain anything by taking this information to Revan himself. He most assuredly knows of our plans, and we can only assume he believes you will all fail. So you cannot fail."
He stopped there, moving back toward his seat and practically falling into it. His speech was well practiced, so well that it seemed as though it were just the natural flow of his conversation. He believed in his words, but even he did not believe this would work. The Grandmaster, sighing deeply, stayed silent throughout it all. At her sigh, something in the Chancellor seemed to break, and his script left him as he added, "It's all kriffing rancor shit, Revan might as well be a dark kriffing magician from a bad holodrama. We would bash him to death with a thousand Hammerhead cruisers if we could just be sure he would not rise from his bloody pulp even stronger."
Rubbing his tired eyes, he muttered, "We just need the chance."
