Elves, especially those who make Vercy their home, live in a perennial commune with nature, which is why the village has been so quickly reclaimed. It remains eerily quiet as you pick through the former homes and the sun begins the slow process of setting. There are bags of rotted grains, split open by weather and time, swords still slotted in mantelpieces & consumed by rust, scraps of rags that were once favorite articles of clothing—the orcs were very, very thorough.
Only two objects seem worth taking as you pick through the homes; one, a scrap of red cloth (the durability of which against the elements suggests that it is not of elven make) with a symbol embroidered on it you’ve never seen before—a triangle with a radiant circle behind it. It almost looks like a mountain before a setting—or rising—sun.
The other object lies in the grass outside the home of Fauldis, the town’s former Lore Master. It is a belt buckle with yet another symbol on it, this one looking like an intricately carved map of an entire world. Even without extensive knowledge, you know that this is a tremendously well-crafted item.
It takes close to an hour and you still have not seen the entire village or reached your home, but suddenly, as you hold a crumbling spindle from someone’s chair (you’re pretty sure you’re now standing in what used to be Fauldis’ home), you realize—there are no bodies. No bones.