They had been searching for weeks now, the excavations slowly paving their way into the inner sanctum of the temple they had found. Tae'thelan knew that he had to be patient, but the excitement of a new find had been burning in his blood for just as long. When the doors to the inner temple had finally been opened, Tae'thelan had to stop himself from rushing inside. They were researchers, not smash and grab treasure hunters. He would catalog, he would let the workers they had hired do their jobs, he would wait. After weeks the few hours ahead of him until he could order the room be cleared for his…personal analysis was nothing.
The room was larger than he had originally thought, carvings and intricate mosaics covering the floor and walls, all designed to draw attention to an impressive stone altar in the center. He was amazed by the craftsmanship, and mentally revised his estimate of the time period the temple had been built in. The altar in particular drew him, its solid dark stone dominating the room which had obviously been built for its importance.
He couldn't help but move toward the altar, and before he knew it he was standing before it and running his hands over its cool and deceptively smooth surface. It was beautiful, one of the most perfectly preserved relics he'd ever seen and he felt a wave of heat rush through him at the thought. All the waiting and the work and finally he was here. The thrill of discovery masked any warnings his senses might have given him as he crawled onto the altar itself and rested on his knees, looking out over the room, and better seeing the mosaic of writhing tentacles on the floor.
He stayed there for a few moments, feeling the stone begin to bite into his knees, drawing in deep breaths of the air that hadn't been breathed in ages, things that hadn't been seen for centuries. This was what he lived for discovery. Slowly he unlatched his pauldrons and let them slide off, then undoing the clasp of his cloak, the fabric pooling behind him, and starting in on the buttons to his shirt.
Suddenly the room seemed to shift, and an unbearable pressure weighed down on him. SMALL MORTAL, YOU OFFER YOURSELF ON THE ALTAR OF C'THUN!? The mosaics that had seemed so realistic before lifted out of their lines, dark tentacles leaving pale imprints behind as they converged on Tae'thelan and the altar. He couldn't move or breathe, just watch as they surrounded him. IF YOU OFFER YOURSELF THEN WHAT DO YOU WISH IN RETURN!? Unbidden, his reason for climbing onto the altar flashed through his mind, the rush of blood new discoveries brought him, the breathless delight of knowledge.
The tentacles seemed to pause then, YES, KNOWLEDGE, THIS IS ACCEPTABLE. YOU SEEK THE RELICS AND DEEP PLACES OF THE WORLD, YOU SHALL HAVE THEM. Cold knowledge seemed to drop directly into his brain then, he felt feverish, and started to tear at his clothes. The tentacles deftly snagged his wrists, stopping his frantic actions. Tae'thelan cried out then, raggedly screaming as he knew where priceless lost treasures of the ancient empires were, and the hidden temples and lost shrines to a hundred bygone ages and lords and gods. It was too much, it was not enough, and tentacles plucked at his torn clothes, seeming to absorb the odd lines of blood where his nails had bitten too deep. They curled themselves around his thighs too, supporting him on his knees, drawing him up so more tentacles could draw his trousers down his legs.
He could hear himself making ragged, breathy moans, the tentacles surrounding him tracing gentle lines over his chest and up his neck and down his inner thighs. Each tracing was a map that had been lost to fire, a manuscript put aside and not recopied for the ages, a monument falling into the sea, and Tae'thelan writhed with the knowledge off all that was lost and yet to be found.
He was being held now, the tentacles lifting him further. One of them slid into his mouth and with it came the knowledge of every glyph he had spent weeks puzzling over and every language he had never heard, Tae'thelan suckled fervently at it wanting, needing, more, moaning out every phrase he'd never understood. The blunt, slick edges of tentacles nudged between his legs, twisting around his aching cock and slowly pushing into his body. Every pain was the history of a forgotten war, each wash of pleasure a scandal ruining empires, the bright burn of his orgasm held tightly back was the breath held before every great disaster. He pushed down needily, thrusting onto the tentacles inside him, then just as desperately surging up again to catch the one in his mouth before it could desert him. They teased him at times, making him keen needily and stretch further to take them in, but they filled him so completely he couldn't comprehend anything beyond this. This knowledge pouring into him, riding the edge of discovery itself. His thrusts became erratic, desperate for more, he could barely breathe around the thick tentacle in his mouth, he banged his knees on the stone of the altar as he writhed. The tentacles at last gave a harsh pull on his cock and he came screaming. The hot rush of orgasm stole his energy, reducing him to a limp doll in the tentacles' grip as they gently laid him across the altar.
Slowly the feeling of pressure left him, the tentacles drawing back into their places in the walls. So much knowledge, and though he felt it fading with the rush of his orgasm some small parts remained. He would have to return, he knew he must return. Again and again, until it stayed.
Deep down below the temple, a great beast stretched and contemplated the fragile new mind it had won.