"You're a scholar, am I right? Maybe we could exchange books. I wouldn't mind a look at anything you've got on Bosmer culture. I've got a rather hefty volume of Ayelid poems that's been sat on my shelf for the better part of a year, now. Perhaps that would interest you in return? It's dusty, but... not unappreciated. I've read the whole thing back-to-front thrice now, and cannot bring myself to read it again - yet, I also cannot bear to part with it. Not completely, at least. It's been too... transformative. Hah, I do apologise if I seem to be speaking in tongues. Captivation is a virtue few men are willing to express nowadays - that, and nobody steals from libraries anymore... it's sad."

(The Heir is convening in a welcoming, friendly and gentlemanly tone.)

"You're a smart man, Dovahkiin. Your Breton blood serves you well - I often think about what you told me, you know. About your own private study. A child left to his devices in the playground of language and ideas. I can only dream of what I might know today, had I worn your shoes then. And you too, young man - I'm surprised, knowing what I do about the Saxhleel. A fine people, a fascinating culture, but so obsessed with the NOW. Yet you've become quite the little historian, haven't you? Both got good brains in those heads. Iruli's architect WAS a bit of an oddjob, wasn't he? Stalking the streets at night, kidnapping the castle vultures... building something Iruli didn't ask for. Something he didn't know about. Something NOBODY was supposed to know about - and yet, you cracked it. No, I mean it, well done. I almost missed it myself. I thank you both for your... helpful endeavours." 

(The Heir is pacing back and forth, picking up things and examining them, as he spiels at someone who his men have captured and are at his mercy. He sounds like he's enjoying explaining what he knows, with a very slight threatening undertone. He may pause at points or make a breath of exertion as he lifts and moves things - imagine heavy stacks of papers, or passing hefty stone objects to others.)

"They say the blood of dragons floods your veins, Dovahkiin. As your heart pumps with the vigor of dread and winged terrors, my own is that of even rarer ilk. I have the blood of Architects. The blood of Founders, and Seekers, and Slayers. Whose to say which is stronger without the divination of blade and spell? Come, Dovahkiin. Let us exchange hearts, that we might answer that age old question - does the hero slay the dragon?"

(The Heir is challenging the player to a duel - one that will end fatally in blood, for one or the other. His tone is serious, but he still carries that same scholarly air in his speech.)