User:Captaincarrot/Echkin A Study
Written by IceFireWarden
“This publication of zoological notes―all compiled and edited by the author himself―goes into exceptional detail concerning the origins of the giant bats that have been plaguing Tamriel for several centuries, but especially now in the midst of the Three Banners War, in the hopes it’ll both inform and aid the many adventurers traversing the continent. It was one of the last manuscripts delivered to the Imperial Geographical Society of which Master Warden found recent employment, as he has decided to take an ‘indefinite leave’ from this prestigious organization. As he put it: “I’d rather the Taskmaster reclaim my soul than work alongside spineless cowards seemingly oblivious to the fact they are being manipulated by the King of Worms himself. When the Society comes to their senses, I shall return.” While I do not condone that ancient lizard’s actions, I must admit he exited the premises with flair―the Grand Bibliographer was not pleased to find his office flooded with ink.” ― Abnur Tharn, Chancellor of the Elder Council
“The Argonian known as Eis Vuur Warden has been declared a target of supreme interest by our Rotting God, the illuminating Mannimarco. If any of our agents discovers him in his worrisome wanderings (he is currently working as a contract writer for all three alliances, so he could truly be anywhere, although special attention should be diverted to his former home of Thornmarsh) do not hesitate to capture him.” ― W.C.
Preface: Echkin, from Whence do they Come?
Due to focusing previous years on fictional tales for children, it had been least half a decade since I traversed the northwestern province of High Rock with research solely on my mind. I must admit, this study originally sprouted from a selfish curiosity instead of an altruistic goal, but to be more forgiving towards myself, I suppose many research studies do.
I had been contemplating the outlandish rumors circulating Western Skyrim as I made my way to Windhelm when I decided to rest among the nearby hot springs. Amidst the throes of my aggravating nightmares, I was awakened from my slumber by the screeches of troublesome chiropterans and was forced to defend myself. While I was successful (despite being a scholar, I have had many, many years to train in the arts of sword and sorcery), the encounter made me wary.
Giant bats had been mass migrating all across Tamriel for mysterious reasons and were plaguing the innocent townsfolk in the process; I couldn’t help but find this both concerning and curious, and in the bowels of that curiosity I found a spark of creativity.
Leaving a note with the Windhelm Chapter of the United Explorers so that they could withhold my payment (I was, after all, engaging in personal matters), I began the long trek into Daggerfall Covenant territory under the guise of a simple Argonian condottiere. Before I left the City of Ysgramor, I browsed the shelves of the more reputable libraries in order to find any information relevant to my current endeavor, and used my traveling time to create a brief synopsis of what would become this book:
Speaking of Normar (its local name, Rivenspire, is what the First Empire officially labeled it, but it doesn’t sound nearly as interesting), I instantly knew that I had chosen the right place to conduct my research when I arrived in its capital city of Shornhelm a few weeks after leaving Eastmarch―the local butcheries were selling giant bat meat in abundance and amateur heroes discussed the haul they received from selling bat parts to magical shops and institutions.
Knowing that assistance would be wise, I decided to go see my old acquaintance Noulese Provilaise to ask for advice. The Court-Mage of House Arouet was as sarcastic as I remembered, but also visibly older and stressed due to the alarming reports of bloodfiends terrorizing farmers in the area (as someone inflicted with serratus peryiphius for longer than I care to admit, I absolutely despite these mindless, starving ferals often sired by deranged night-children). Although skeptical of my research (she always preferred my more down-to-nirn ramblings), Noulese was more than willing to tell me that the Ykaloni Druids known as the Whisperesses of the Stem might hold answers to my questions. I immediately thanked her for her time, and went on my way to the Ykalon Forest in the north.
Section I: What the Green Witches Said
I had heard of the Whisperesses of the Stem off and on throughout my life, and I knew that they were technically a tribe of Witchmen that had migrated out of the Reach centuries ago in order to construct a more peaceful society. They are a nomadic, benevolent, matriarchal people dedicated to various nature gods (Jephre, Kyne, Hircine, and Peryite under different names I surmised), and they only interacted with their brutal brethren in order to trade for supplies or husbands (they have no stigma against males, but they are rare finds in their camps besides children).
Noulese had sent me to them because they were well-known for being archivers of Bretonic folklore that the city folk chose to ignore or abandon, using magics and practices taught to them by the mysterious―and extinct―Hedge-Lords and Dirt-Queens of the Nedic tribe of Galen. As I entered the main hill-tent of the Déisiniach (“Grass Mistress”, their leader), I figured that my questions would be valued and praised; despite living what many would consider a barbaric lifestyle, the Ykaloni Druids were very well-learned and good-mannered. Imagine my surprise then, when the nursing matriarch gave me a cold stare that could melt a stone upon the mere mention of giant bats!
“You speak to me about foreign powers,” the Déisiniach muttered. “There’s no fault in this, none at all, but I do not presume to know the lives of gods beyond these lands.”
“Excuse me as I erect the spine of confusion, but how do gods factor into my chiropteran inquiry?” I asked her (she seemed to take some offense to my euphemism for some odd reason, until she realized it was just a habit of my people). “Are you suggesting that they are connected to the divine?”
The chief whisperess got up to retrieve a book from the weirdly grown tree in the center of the room that doubled as a bookshelf of sorts and sighed before handing it to me. “In a manner of speaking. I advise reading page forty-three, and then speaking with your city-loving friend about finding more information. All I can tell you is that the echkin serve a goddess that I do not serve, and are under her protection.”
“Echkin?”
“Giant bats! That’s what some, the smart ones, call them. Or kamlehal, although that’s more of an elf term. Now I am tired, nice visitor. Leave me to my rest.”
“There has to be more than that! Can you at least write me out a note of your own personal thoughts on the subject?”
The matriarch narrowed her eyes before grasping her head in exasperation. “Fine, but after this, you truly must leave. All this bat-talk is making the spirits give me a headache.”
I, of course, obliged and went on my way with the book that she gave me, which turned out to be a magical copy of Volume VII to the Varieties of Faith in Heiröc. Upon returning to my room in Dead Wolf Inn, I turned to page forty-two and read the entry that the Déisiniach suggested:
The note I was given didn’t do much to sate my appetite for knowledge either, although it did add in more puzzling pieces that made me think. According to an old legend the Grass Mistress learned in her youth, Hran of the Dale had once used her unfathomable powers to speak a mysterious group of chiropteran-like people into the Ykalon, but the Reachmen tribes found them unnatural and wanted them gone after several attempts for peace were made. With the aid of their shamans, who harnessed the corrupting power of Sheor permeating the Druadach, the bat-folk were unraveled and made simple. Filled with sadness over what had happened, Hran gifted them enough power to protect themselves and exact vengeance on the shamans before returning to the far east, never again to trust the Reachmen.
While the Déisiniach didn’t state it in her note, it seemed quite obvious to me that the she was implying that the corrupted bat-folk became the giant bats of the modern day. I won’t lie, I was a bit skeptical over this (I have realized over the centuries that dryskins are fond of elevating the mundane to the grandiose) but also knew in my heart that the druid was simply trying to help me as best she could.
Taking her advice, I sent word to Noulese wondering if she knew any other reputable folk that would be willing to aid in my quest and was delighted to discover that the court mage had already done so in the city of Sentinel on the shores of the Iliac Bay. Making sure to buy some moisturizing lotion from the nearest apothecary, I set my feet on the path to Hammerfell.
Section II: What the Sand Priests Said
Ah, Hammerfell. Gleaming Sandsea of the West, and pure havoc on my sensitive scales.
(If it has not been made obvious yet, that bottle of moisturizer turned out to be two weeks spoiled. I now also feel strangely sick, despite knowing I am beyond disease; silver was an ingredient in it, I’m sure.)
While the semi-arid climate of the Alik’r was hot on my scales, it was very moist for my brain. As I entered the Baby Dragon Tavern, I noticed both Noulese and her contact awaiting me at a table in the far corner of the room and immediately went to sit down as well, unable to control my excitement like a hatchling throwing his first mudball. The contact (who absolutely refused to give me her name, which was infuriating, so I decided to just call her Veil) was both a Crown and a Priestess of Tu’whacca, who was on business from Stros M’kai but owed Lady Noulese a favor. After ordering some highly spirited drinks, we engaged in our discussion post-haste.
“So tell me Veil, what exactly do you know about the giant bats of High Rock?”
The priestess chuckled. “Of High Rock, you say? Those vermin have infested the Dragontail and Ogres Tooth Mountain Ranges for many generations as well, my dear Argonian, so I would phrase them as simply a High Rock problem. Nevertheless, as a voice of the gods and an instructor of their divine will I do know of a tale that harkens back to the arrival of the Ra Gada Wave in Tamriel.”
If I had eyebrows, they would be raising at that statement. “Once again, I am told that these nocturnal animals are tied to the divine entities. Are they really that important?”
“I wouldn’t say important, just peculiar. When my ancestors, in search of a new home, stormed the Deathlands en masse in hopes of procuring it from the primitive and wrong-thinking cultures that dwelled within it―”
Noulese muttered under her breath. “A fine way to make the act of genocide sound as simple as ridding your garden of pests…”
“―it is sometimes believed that a few of our minor gods also joined the fray, hoping to help their chosen people overcome this new land of new challenges.” Veil smiled proudly, which made me realize she was perhaps a tad too encouraging of the morally grey actions of her progenitors. “Do you know much about the true Yokudan pantheon, Master Warden? The one the forebears treat disdainfully, like the irritants they are?”
“Not much I’m afraid, young lady,” I answered back. “A few interesting things, but even I can’t claim to have memorized every aspect of every Tamrielic faith. I do, however, know that it is said that the ancient Yokudans had a god for everything, to the point that gods of ‘literally everything’ and ‘we have too many gods’ existed within their culture. It almost reminds me of the countless demiprinces and daedra lords that go unnoticed by the average citizen. For example, have you heard of Herrugh, First Child of the Sixteen and Daedra Lord of Minor Inconveniences? Such an odd fellow, him.”
The priestess seemed to find the comparison between her ancestral pantheon and the denizens of Oblivion somewhat offensive, as she wrinkled her nose at me quite indignantly. “I’ll have to take your word for it. But as I was saying, the legends that one of these minor spirits was the ancient god known as Hoodoc, who surprised Tall Papa by coming about the Walkabout from the other direction and which is why we know she is not one of our own. Remembered as the Great Talking Spirit, she aided our ancestors by summoning legions of bat-men from her realm to assist.”
I found this information highly intriguing, as it reminded me of what the Grass Mistress had mentioned about the goddess Hran of the Dale, and I relayed this comparison with Veil; she raised an eyebrow before rolling her eyes.
“I suppose some similarities can be drawn between the two, yes. Perhaps this ‘Hran’ is simply a Bretonic misremembrance of one of Hoodoc’s facets? She is a deity of many different forms and personalities, despite being feminine, as she is fond of jokes and illusions. Hanuna, for example, is the form she takes when she is the goddess of ‘talk and make others listen’, while Hurod is the fierce masculine god of ‘you’re talking too much’. Yes, a misremembrance is highly likely, I think. Just a translation error brought about by lazy oral history.”
I couldn’t help but notice Noulese turn bright red at that comment, but I couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. “I’ll be sure to remember that,” I said dryly, “Anything else you can tell me?”
“Hm, let me see…I do know that Hoodoc took personal affront to the giant goblins of the Deathlands, viewing them as ‘wicked’ and ‘wrong’. She and her bat-men chased them all the way into the valleys of Wrothgar and Dragontail, where Hoodoc realized the Orcs had a laid a nefarious trap for them. But the bat-men were overcome by bloodlust and would not listen, so when the Orc-King Malooc was summoned from his fecal pit they were cursed with loneliness and stupidity. Unable to help them now, as Hoodoc wished not to fight against Old Mountain-Hand, she traveled back to Yokuda while her forces became the giant bats of today. And sadly, that is where my knowledge ends.”
After engaging in additional pleasantries for a few more hours, the priestess announced her weariness and retired for the night, departing with the still slightly upset Noulese. I decided to remain at the tavern, where I could sit and muse and drink in relative peace.
Hran? Hoodoc? Such strange deities indeed! I wondered to myself; I would have never guessed that this research would go from zoological to theological. But still, I knew that I needed to get to the bottom of this somehow. I packed my bags, collected my notes, and headed towards the one place where I knew I could find some answers definite answers to my questions: The Isle of Balfiera.
Section III: What the Breeze Mages Said
In simpler times the Direnni proved to be arrogant and pompous, but were also amicable and cordial with their potential guests as they entertained them with a wide arrange of theatrics and entertainment. But now with the Daggerfall Covenant sending letter after letter in the hopes of an alliance, they had become downright hostile.
Fortunately for myself, I had been named a retainer of their prestigious clan a long time ago. The centaurs and centauride that served as their guards welcomed me with riddles and philosophical snark, and as the Inner Gate opened up I found myself surprisingly (but touchingly) embraced by the humorous Belladel Direnni; it seemed that the century-old mage still remembered me from the jokes I taught her when she was but a child.
“When we heard that you were coming, I just had to see you!” Belladel cried. “It’s been so long, Uncle Eis. How was your trip? Are you here to see father?”
“Well, I would have been here sooner, my dear, but the weather delayed me for four weeks,” I replied. “But it warms my scales to see you once again. Where is that old rascal, anyways? His study?”
“Yes, as usual. Come, I’ll take you to him.”
As the mage lead me through the halls of Adamantine, I was reminded of the tower’s beauty and grace. It was no wonder that all of the civilized races considered it the starting point of all creation, the first divine act of the gods in the material realm. Seeing the towering tapestries of their lineage was always such a sight, like the Conjurations of Corvus and the Birth of Lilandril.
As we entered the fiftieth floor and opened the second room on the right, I smiled at the old mystic―no, my old friend―lounging in his rocking chair by the fire. Beredalmo the Signifier was almost as powerful as he was ancient, but age had finally begun to wear him down it seemed.
“Eis! It has been quite a while,” he exclaimed. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
“Giant bats, it seems,” I replied. “A matter of research and much confusion on my part, for better or worse.”
“Hmm…so you’re writing a paper about yourself? I thought the youth were calling those autobiographies?”
“Oh, you.” We laughed, choked, and then laughed even harder until Beredalmo asked Belladel to bring us some refreshments. The three of us would go on to reminiscence for several minutes, eating good food and drinking pure vintage, until the Signifier decided it was time he answered my questions before the revelry drained him.
“First you talked to a whisperess, and then you talked to a priestess! Knowledgeable folk they are, but it does hurt my heart I wasn’t at the top of your list Eis,” Beredalmo began. “Nevertheless, what each of those ladies said to you wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the exact truth either. When it comes to the echkin, there is an air of mystery.”
“So you use that term as well I see. Echkin, I mean, in regards to the giant bats.”
“Indeed. I’m quite surprised that the Déisiniach knew that word for them, really. It isn’t a term in common usage, and is one often attributed to myth. But myths do hold power, after all, and what the Crown said about the god of Hoodoc is something referenced in our archives as well. But the Déisiniach was also correct about Hran of the Dale, and that leads me to believe that both of their stories are attributed to the legends of the wandering scholar.”
“The Wandering Scholar?” I inquired.
“Yes!” Belladel exclaimed, before putting a hand on the old man’s knee. “Oh, I used to love those stories when I was younger. Can I tell him father? Can I?”
Chuckling, Beredalmo nodded his head. “Go ahead then, my little dandelion.”
“Alright then, let me see if I remember…” Belladel muttered, before snapping her fingers with sudden enlightenment. “And I do! Long ago, way back in the First Era, when acts of divine will and strange magics were much more common, every province began to speak of a foreign traveler of a race no one had ever seen before. Her features were chiropteran and her mood chaotic; often the stories applauded her humorous behavior and ingenuity, but sometimes they focused on her constant irritation and drive of power. But each tale got one thing right―she was an incredible scholar, a powerful mage, and she would not let even the gods stop her from reaching her goal of unraveling the secret of divine might.”
“Mmm,” agreed Beredalmo. “She began her quests in Morrowind where she had verbal spars with the Tribunal. She traveled to Skyrim to meet with Ysmir, and even to Artaeum to learn from the Psijics. This wandering scholar was incapable of being content with what she already knew, and craved knowing as much as possible without relying on the gods themselves for aid. When asked she would state that her name was ‘Hrahanti, an Echmer from the continent of In’eslae.’”
I began scratching my chin, largely out of habit. “An ‘Echmer’? She was supposedly an…echo elf, if my Aldmeris is correct. I have never heard of this race. Wait…Echmer…echkin…I think I’m starting to understand a little bit…”
Belladel clapped her hands in excitement. “Yes! That’s the connection. The wandering scholar, Hrahanti, traveled all across Tamriel in search of knowledge she could not find in her own homeland. Perhaps all of Mundus and even the Outer Realms too, now that I think of it. I’ve told my father multiple times that I believe this foreign sage, in her pursuit of unraveling the divine, became divine herself and that’s where all the deities like Hoodoc and Hran come from. Once a god always a god, right father? Once you’ve ‘been’ haven’t you always ‘been?’”
“Well, I’m not quite so sure that is how that works, but it would explain the echkin,” Beredalmo pondered. “Perhaps Hrahanti wanted to unite her homeland with Tamriel and migrated some of her people here, but a series of unfortunate events resulted in them becoming monsters and she never tried again. In any case, I believe that is the full story of the giant bats and what your study has been sorely missing, my friend.”
I will not lie―I found myself speechless at the wealth of information I had just received. Who knew that giant bats, that these echkin, had such an interesting and controversial history like the Giants of Skyrim and the exiled dreugh? I thanked Beredalmo and Belladel for their marvelous help, and began the long journey back home. Erecting the spine of satisfaction as I traveled, I scribbled down my final notes on the subject:
In Conclusion
A job well done, if I may say so myself; this new book might be the best one yet (and the fact that I wrote it outside of the Imperial Geographical Society is as equally hilarious as it is splendid). But the presence of echkin in Skyrim still disturbs me, and it made me remember the growing presence of bloodfiends in Rivenspire. Could there be a possible connection? I know firsthand that vampires have a strange relationship with chiropteran creatures, and could exert some influence over their behavior. Maybe…no, that can’t be. I shall not commit that thought to paper.
But now I am interested in a new topic of study: The Legends of the Wandering Scholar, and this strange but incredibly interesting Hrahanti. Hmm…I’ll be sure to remember the continent of “In’eslae” when I have the free time for independent projects in the future.
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