Marshall closed his golden eyes as he crossed into the tight cave, and prayed, not for the first time, that it would just be a short crack. His fur caught another outcropping of rough stone, and pulled just enough to remind him of when it was possible to care. The kingdom hadn't given any of them the time to sleep more than a handful of moments before being dragged out to do one of the hundreds of tasks they seemed to have on hand. Hygiene and pride were dropping by the week as the failed rebel raids pilled up along with the impaled remains outside the walls. The humans were mostly keeping themselves well kept and fed of course, but some also shared the Beastkin's fate of being used until they died on the spot. Then, they would probably be turned into skeletons or ghouls by the mages. Veridian's Holding, as the Lord called it, would soon have more dead than living walking its grounds, but that was how most of the kingdoms operated when they entered a new region.
Another few seconds passed as Marshall continued to squeeze down, and his heart continued to pound harder. He couldn't smell blood mixed with foulness that would be the marks of a cult, but it was common in the "barracks" of the Holding. So the fact it didn't smell like such gave him a small bit of hope. Though it could just mean that it was where the cultists ran to when they saw the fires and flags of the kingdom. Which is what his own village should have done, but pride gave them the heart to stay. Cultists were far more pragmatic and clever, at least that is what Marshall heard from the many humans that talked in low voices when the news came back. An ancient summoning grove of some kind meant a long standing cult, though no one could settle on the demon or dragon they must worship. In a way, Marshall had learned more in the last months about the world outside his village.
"Old Mags always told me that knowledge was something you paid for, either in the moment or down the path." He mused sarcastically, as a breath of fresh air passed around him, and stopped him dead. Fresh air meant the outside, and he had been going deeper into the hill this cave had been found. The pads in his hands became wet from sweat as he started to panic, and he didn't realize he was still shuffling forward at first. Then he stopped as the air went from a random wave to a constant flow. A slight pull on his body made him realize that the mage was still up in the main cave. The human couldn't see anything, but would know when Marshall stopped intentionally. Gritting his teeth and flashing his long canines to the darkness around him. He noticed that he could slightly see the shapes around himself.
"I never claimed to be smart, but you don't get good air and light underground usually at the same time." He kept moving to keep the spell happy, but he wasn't happy about it and it wasn't like the mage would care. He would just pick the next one, probably Cal, since they liked to keep the women around until last, and he had been causing problems. Not as much as Marshall had been causing himself, but that's why he was going first. Such was the way of Holding life he had been told, regardless of what problems you cause you just get to be the first sent in. Unless they wanted to set an example, then you would be burned slowly. The screams of the slowly burning tended to have a lasting effect on everyone. Suddenly the crack shifted and Marshall found himself in a tiled room with a glowing rock on the roof. And, just like that all the concerns were wiped away with the panic of the now. If the spell hadn't restricted his body from leaping back into the crack he would have likely made it in an eye blink. Instead he was crouched on the ground trying to fight against the spell heavily pushing him forward, and he screamed and cursed the stupid mage, the humans, and life itself. He knew those patterns on the wall.
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Magus Voranil snorted as the puppet froze in place as it tried to return. The spell used wasn't complex, so it couldn't give him a lot of details. Yet, it seemed like something had scared the animal down there, which meant he would have to spend the next bit crafting a spell that could give him a range of vision around the creature. As barbaric as the Beastkin were they did have the ability to know when something was dangerous, but WHY it was so could range from lethal poison to cultural no-no. Clearly this one would rather face instant death than where it was, so it gave him hope that it had found the Mana Well. Such things were revered by the Beastkin as sacred places where the blood of the world rose to surface, and granted blessings to those that lived near them. They wouldn't, and often couldn't, actually pull power from the Wells as humans could. The fact that humans needed Beastkin blood to create the spell forms that would anchor the Well, was still a sore point to most mages. So, if it turned out that's what he found, then he would just have to send back a message, write the spell, and lock the Well. He would even get a pass back to the capital for finding and securing it.
This was what empowered his thoughts as he traced his Spire through the air, writing the runes and lines that made up a way to link the vision. Crafting a spell was a sign of an Adept Mage, and while he did have a few standard scrolls to use. They always made his eyes sore after only a few minutes, and seeing to craft the Anchor spell would be an hour at best. Comfort would be key to get everything in place without errors. Spell errors would leave holes for wild mana to cause problems ranging from dispelling to explosions. Either would cost him the relaxing trip back to the capital. When the final blue lines of light connected, and the spell pulled Voranil's sight to the puppet beneath the earth. The sight of the brick room, and the pictures caused a sharp intake of breath. Before anyone around him could puzzle at him, he pulled the older spell apart allowing the creature to flee for it's life.
"Nightmares take them, a blighted dungeon..." His eyes burned as fear blazed to everyone, "Go back to the Holding, keep pace or die out here in this cursed land." Dungeons were nightmares to find in a land with higher mana. They grew fast and learned from anything within their domain. All the kingdoms had made a pact to destroy or enslave any core found, and if the dungeon was on top of the Well... He didn't want to think about that possibility. At best it would develop by the day, and at worst it was already several floors and powerful monsters days away from breaking free. The Holding wasn't ready for that.
"Why couldn't it just be cultists?" He muttered as he pulled three scrolls out and started running, leaving everyone to run after him.