"Ooh, those are lovely brains. So fresh and springy! And the acid glands are still intact, too! A fine job, whoever prepared this. Was it one of your friends, Woe? Well done, well done," he beams delightedly over his cracked spectacles. "I'd love to buy them all, but, well, I'm afraid, times being what they are, that, uh.... Well, the thing is... I am slightly short on hard cash at the moment. Too many breakages," he admits with what he probably expects to be rueful candor.
"Serevas, you say? He was that tutor working for the Donnervales or the Glasstons. Or... well, one of those families. Wasn't much of an alchemist, if you want the truth. Bit of a dabbler. He quit, after that ruckus over in Bacarte. I don't remember what it was, but it was supposedly a bit of a scandal. Enough that the family pensioned him off quietly. There were some thinking he might come set up shop out here, be a real alchemist, but he stopped practicing the Art. Went back to his original calling. He was a priest, you know. Anyway, last I heard he was working on rebuilding an old, ruined church of Mireva in Overgrowth. You know, preaching to the poor urchins and all that. Don't quite see the appeal, myself, but it takes all kinds, especially when it comes to the gods, eh?"
His eyes drift hopefully back toward the dragon brains.