Who am I?

You're probably wondering that right now. It's a good question.

I'm supposed to be important, or so they tell me. I'd just say that I'm unlucky. They say that I'm blessed by the Divines. I'd just say that Sheogorath is having a good laugh at my expense, and maybe everybody else's too.

So who am I?

Well, my name is Elyssa, Elyssa Harper. I'm a Breton, but not from High Rock. I was born and raised in Anvil, Cyrodiil. It's a lovely place to grow up, very picturesque and peaceful most days. I used to enjoy watching the ships sail in and out of the harbour, guessing where they had come from and where they might be going.

I'd spend hours beachcombing, and getting chased by the mudcrabs. I used to love paddling in the water when the slaughterfish weren't around. I'd run around in the fields outside town, annoying the farmers. Even the Thalmor rarely turned up to cause trouble.

I really did love home.

But I have something of a wanderlust, and so I set off to travel and see the world.

You're probably expecting me to have some sort of tragic past, aren't you?

Well, I don't.

Both of my parents are still alive, both caring and doting when it comes to their little girl. Not that I'm that little anymore. Yes, I'm still on the short side, but I am an adult now. But parents have that habit of always seeing their children as... well, children. To my parents, I will still be a little girl with sand between my toes and ankles pinched by mudcrabs I'd annoyed once too often.

My father is a member of the Anvil City Watch, and my mother is the court mage at Castle Anvil. Between them they gave me a decent start in the adventuring game, teaching me how to wield magic and blades. They would like me to have a nice quiet life, but they also wanted me to be prepared. I think they always knew that I would want to become an adventurer. I was the one who poked the mudcrabs with a stick, after all.

How they fussed when I said I was going to travel the world. The pack they gave me was so full of supplies that I toppled as soon it was on my shoulders. It must have looked funny, me on the ground flailing around like an upside-down beetle. Great start.

I remember smiling though, as they helped me back onto my feet. I miss them, and I pray that I will see them again one day. My prospects are bleak at the moment, but I still have hope. Without hope, I'll go mad and quickly end up being eaten by something toothy and ill-tempered. Skyrim is a dangerous land, and without conviction and the will to survive, it's a land which will kill you in short order.

I must sound like an adventurous young Breton woman, with a head full of dreams and nonsense, keen to see the world and somehow not get killed along the way. Not that remarkable. More than a few Bretons are adventurers.

So what makes me special then? I must have something, right?

An affinity for magic? Please! I'm a Breton. Magic is in my blood. I'm good at it, yes, but that's to be expected. I have a knack for Alteration and Restoration, and you wouldn't want to annoy me when I have a fire spell at the ready. I'm not bad at mixing together the mundane and the magical to make potions, which has kept me alive and kicking in a pinch.

Swordplay? That doesn't come so naturally, but I can handle a weapon. I prefer swords, but I can make do. I favour swords which I can handle easily, preferably with one hand so that I can cast spells with the other. Am I an expert? Well, I'm still alive. I obviously win more fights than I lose, so I must have some skill with a blade.

Am I beautiful? Debateable. Some people like my looks, some don't. I wouldn't call myself beautiful. It's hard to stay pretty when you're trudging around in the wilderness. Vanity demands that I try, reality tends to ruin my efforts. I don't have much luck when it comes to relationships, short or long, but we'll get into that later. I struggle to persuade and coerce, and you'll find out why soon enough.

I'm not that special, am I? I can cope with that. You'd look at me and see an ordinary Breton girl, nothing unusual.

But there is one thing. There is something which does make me unusual, some might say special.

It turns out that I am Dragonborn. Dovahkiin in Dragon-speak.

I am a mortal with the soul of a Dragon. I can consume the souls of Dragons when I defeat them, stealing their power and knowledge. I can channel my vital essence into a Shout, a cry using the language of the Dragons, allowing me to blast people into the air, breathe fire, call storms...

Or I could... in theory.

You see, there's a problem there.

The Dragonborn is supposed to be the only one who can stop the World Eater, Alduin, from destroying the world, thanks to the power of the Voice which is my birthright. Learning the language of the Dragons is as easy for me as breathing.

Other people can learn to use the Voice, but it takes time and immense dedication to learn even a single Word. For a Dragonborn like me, it comes naturally. I can learn new Words instantly, using the stolen essence of slain Dragons to understand and channel them. When Dragons breathe fire or drain the life from a body, they're actually Shouting.

A fight between Dragons is really just a violent debate. Sounds like mortal politics to me! Fine, maybe not the same. Less backstabbing and more flying around spewing fire and ice everywhere. More impressive than mortal politics.

Alduin seeks to destroy Tamriel, and there has to be a prophesised hero to stop him. That's how it works in the tales.

There you have it. That's the answer: I'm Dragonborn. In fact, apparently I'm the only Dragonborn of this era. Some even call me "The Last Dragonborn". It sounds good, doesn't it? The bards would love it. It makes me sound like some kind of all-powerful, fated, mysterious hero.

But it seems that the Divines have a poor sense of humour. If this is a joke, it's not a funny one. Maybe Sheogorath cooked it up, it seems like the sort of thing the Daedric Prince of Madness would think of. But they say that he's supposed to be funny. This problem is actually quite serious considering that Alduin is out to bring the world to an end.

It's simple, really. In order to use the Voice, in order to Shout, you need to... well, shout.

And I can't.

I can't talk.

Seriously. I can't talk. I can't shout. I can't even scream. And believe me, there have been plenty of times when I have just wanted to scream. I'd have screamed Dragonsreach down if I could, because this is just so unfair. The fate of the world rests in my hands, all life depends on my ability to use the Voice, and I have no hope of ever managing even a murmur.

This is one of those moments when I want to scream my lungs out. But I can't do that. I can't make a sound.

I am mute. Completely mute. I have always been mute and always will be mute.

I can't bloody talk.

I'm Dragonborn, and I can't use the Voice because I am mute.

How's that for a conundrum?

This weird idea no doubt came about due to my Dragon's Blood projects. If you've read them, or are familiar with Dragon's Blood, you'll know where it came from. But it is an idea I'd like to explore regardless.

Updates for this story will be painfully slow. Right now, my Dragon's Blood stories take priority, so don't be surprised if it takes days, weeks or even months for new chapters for this story to appear. I might give it some attention if I get writer's block though. Until then, if you want to follow one of my projects, I have others which are advancing at a fair rate. This is here mainly so I won't forget it and to see if it gains traction.

Until then, be assured that I will get around to this one day. I hate leaving a story unfinished.