Beitild stared at the Dwemer construct. Its face had something like eyes that gazed sightlessly back. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” Beitild demanded of the adventurer trying to sell it to her. “Melt it into dwarven ingots?”

At that, the construct whirred a bit, and from some internal storage, pulled out a gleaming chunk of metal. It held it forward.
Beitild gaped, momentarily stunned. Then she recovered, snatching the ingot out of its hand. “You understand me? Can you bring more?”

The adventurer grinned. Greed was good.