The Sentinel's Final Tax

In the heart of the crumbling ziggurat, the clay golem let out a dry, earthen gasp before dissolving into fragments of enchanted clay. The bandit camp, hastily built into the alcoves of this sacred space, reveals a collection of artifacts they had begun to box up for transport to the black market. The heavy scent of ozone and ancient dust lingers over the piles of recovered riches found beneath the bandit leader's cot.