Behold the First King, Hashut
this is a transcription of a short story found in White Dwarf 515, just wanted to share since I have been digging into what Hashut's domains in AoS are and I find the idea of him as the first God-King fun. Very Sauron very fun. Might make a post about aspects of his worship later. Edit: this is not new lore, it was released around the time of the battletome iirc.
'Here, elder. These are the Delver's halls, deep and true. Nowhere lower to go. If the gods'll hear us, it'll be here.'
As she spoke, Gjarna lifted her torch, glancing around the shrine-space. The young duardin's face was as firm as the ancestor visages carved into the solid rock.
'Nowhere lower?' Zugrom was, much like during the entire descent, a few steps behind. Broad shoulders swinging, the bullish old longbeard stomped past her. He turned, plaited beard swaying, and clamped a heavy hand on her shoulder. 'Show some vision, rinn.'
He regarded her, gibing his half-smile. Half, for the longbeard wore a bronze-plated mask over the left side of his face. Magic - that was how he'd ever explained the disfigurement. But all beardlings that for a duardin to meddle with magic bore consequences. 'I hear it in your voice. You thinke me a fool to come down here.'
'Never a fool, elder.'
'You do not understand, though.'
Gjarna frowned. 'Only as I said before. Karak Zlat has only been resettled, and still we endure thaggoraki raids. Their god drives them into frenzy, and we need every axe.' Her own weapon was still dripping with blood from its bladed smile, the price of their descent so far. She had expected the Delver's shrine, this seventh and bottommost temple-hall, to be the worst infested. That it was so empty was strange.
Zugrom nodded. 'Still, You escorted me.'
His heavy robes shifted and his many gold rings caught the torch-glare. He was not gaudy, merely kempt, in a way that Gjarna, clad in her mason's jerkin, was not.
'You have always sponsored my clan, elder.' Gjarna said, bowing. 'Always advised me. And... you said you had a solution to our struggles. It seemed worth trying.'
'Anything is worth victory,' Zugrom nodded. 'My faith was well placed. Maybe you're the one to see.'
Gjarna was about to ask what he meant when the longbeard began walking towards the hall's rear. She expeced him to offer respect to the statues. Zugrom didn't. He might have sneered, at one point. She swallowed.
'Are... we not here to beseech the ancestor gods?'
'These tired old things?' Zugrom sniffed. 'Hardly'.
Gjarna stopped short, mouth ajar, as Zugrom reached the back of the hall. It was a simple wall, though the runes carved down it were deep.
'Then why...' she began.
'As I said. To beseech a god.'
From within his robes, Zugrom produced a small, octagonal charm. He placed it on the wall before speaking in a grinding rumble.
'Drungiiiiii Nejjjjjjj Zharrdrooooonnniiiii...'
The earth groaned. Gjarna staggered, gripping her skull as her mind suddenly burned in a furnace and was crushed beneath slamming pistons. It passed but didn't entirely fade. The runes on the wall had begin to run like molten fat. The rocl had ground open like a pair of doors. Beyond, another set of steps led downward. An eight floor.
Zugrom was already descending. None of the venerable stiffness he had shown on the upper floors afflicted him now.
Despite herself, Gjarna followed.
Here the walls were close, tight like strangler's hands. Heat was intensifying, not fading. She smelled smoke. Script marked the walls. It was not runecraft she recognized. Presssure scraped down her spine - the raking eyes of her ancestors, silently imploring her to turn back.
This was a sealed place. Forgotten. Forbidden.
'We should not be here, elder.' Gjarna's voice was subdued as she reached the stairs' terminus, The hall here seemed largely collapsed, but the altar at its heart remained intact. A statue stood there. Its face radiated a patrician aspect - and cruelty, the sort only a true tyrant could muster. Its eyes were black diamonds, and a spiked ring pierced its nose. She couldn't look directly at it.
'Lift your gaze.'
Zugrom stood before the altar, his back to her. There was a note of awe in the old longbeard's tone - awe, vindication, she could not say. Slowly the robed duardin turned back to her. That was when Gjarna noticed the bronze half-mask held in one hand.
The right side of Zugrom's face smiled. The left did nothing at all. It was stone - cracked, petrified. An occasional molten glow pulsed withing. He grinned, showing a hint of tusk.
'What is this place?' Gjarna managed. She reched for her axe, but her hand shook.
'The truth, girl.' Zugrom raised his arms as if in benediction. His fingers were claws. 'The ancestors sought to hid him from us. They lacked the courage to steal fire from the dark powers. Lacked the wit to wield it. But not all of us forgot.'
'Come. Behold the duardin's Father in Darkness. Behold the first king, Hashut.'