The Desecrated Vault of the Stitched Drake

Amidst the viscous pools of necrotic ichor and the cooling, misshapen flesh of the fallen dragonflesh abomination, the party discovers a collection of treasures protected for centuries. The beholder zombie's single, rotting central eye has rolled toward a stack of silver and gold, its death-gaze finally extinguished. The treasury air is thick with the smell of ozone and copper, as the magic items within pulse with a faint, residual hum from being in close proximity to such powerful, albeit warped, creatures.