Saar had not born under the stars of Nine Divines.
But taking into account that he was an Orsimer, maybe it was more rational to think, that he had born under the stars of Daedras instead.
And as an Orc, under the specific star of Malacath, the Daedric Prince of the spurned and ostracized ones.
That seemed more fitting, as most of his life Saar had felt being ostracized by others.

Abandoned into the Honorhall Orphanage of Riften as a baby, Saar had no knowledge of his origins. He was taken care and raised by Constance Michel, who was the kind headmistress of the orphanage.
Though no visitor never showed any interest of adopting an Orc child, the boy wasn't troubled by this. Or wasn't at first.
Since he was taken care from since he was a baby by Constance, the boy saw the Imperial woman as a caring mother of his. The Orsimer boy lived happily in the orphanage, helped to take care of other children and run errands, cook and clean.
As Saar was over eleven summers though, Constance started to put more effort into have someone to adopt the Orsimer boy.

The headmistress of the Honorhall Orphanage sent letters and spoke to people about the Orc boy. Guided visitors to have a look first at Saar before other children.
But no-one got interested. No-one came, stayed nor looked at the Orc child more than a second before switching to others. No-one spoke to him.
It was just that... That no-one wants an Orsimer child.
Nord, Redguard or Breton, sure. Mer children? Maybe, but if having to decide between other Mer and an Orc? They chose the other Mer child over the Orc one. Heck, they even chose Khajit cub over Orc if coming to that.
It was getting clear to Saar, after every Constance attempt, that no-one fancied him as their son because of his race. Sure, he was good a boy, obedient, smart, kept his long black hair in neat ponytail, was kind, helpful and all other things that surely everyone wished their child to be.
But no.
Because he had a flat, wide nose of a beast, tusks that grow out of his mouth, pointy big ears, dark colored eyes and grayish thick skin... He was not desirable. He was not small, cute nor normal looking enough to be imagined as an own child.
After the Orc boy figured that out, it pained. And as Constance so determinedly tried over and over again, it also became clear that she neither wanted him to be her son or stay in the orphanage.

The Orsimer boy had no heritage, no knowledge nor sense who he was, no idea of what being an Orsimer was about and now the only place that he thought he could call home started to feel like despising him too.
Bitterness is a devious sickness, when it takes a hold of one's heart. Plays with your fears and suspicions, growing and twisting them into something more worse. Gives any good reason to feel angry, misled and whispers more and more lies, twisting the truth to its host. Making them feel like alone and betrayed.
And when the bitterness is directed towards someone very close and loved one, its even worse to have.

A teenager is difficult to raise. Even so, if they are an Orsimer who feel like they are not really wanted and are being lied to in the form of affection.
Saar did some mistakes. Those kind of mistakes, that lead into the path of crimes and leaving the Honorhall and Rift to avoid the law. To join in the desperate need the bandits and do things that knew to be wrong but needed to do nonetheless.
Saar was not proud of his mistakes, of being so weak minded as a boy, of letting himself to be so easily consumed by fear, anger and bitterness. Of letting himself fell so low and become something, that had to avoid guards and have a bounty of his head.

But guess it was too late to regret any of it now, in the situation that Saar had gotten himself into, the certain death looming over him.
He had been during his life in many shitty situations, criminal life was like that, but this newest one, this one, was the by far the shittiest.
Even getting caught by guards wasn't that bad compared to what Forsworns were planning to do to him...

It was a fifth night now since Saar had been captured by the Forsworns. His comrades had been killed in the surprise attack by the road, and he had been beaten to half conscious.
Then the Madmen had brought him into their small camp, on a high rock where there was a great view of the Reach's valley below. The Orsimer had been certain the bastards were going to throw him over the cliff as they dragged his ass through the camp and towards the edge.
Five Forsworn was pulling him with ropes, like he was some damn wild animal, poking him with spears whenever he was going to collapse or try to struggle in his beaten state.
During the fight at the road someone had batted the back of his head, and the injury made him feel strong headache, nausea and his vision kept blurring now and then.
Seeing the cliff getting closer the tall Orsimer struggled even harder with more force behind his actions, fear increasing even more and so the berserk state kicked in.
Saar's vision started turning into red, his body ignoring all the wounds and the pain as he growled viciously in the back of his throat.
Then the Orc was hit again on his head and his mind blackened.

When Saar's consciousness crept back, and he opened his eyes, his heart tried to leap into his throat because how close to the edge he was. Practically leaning towards and almost over it!
Instincts screaming to get away from the high fall as below opened the Reach's rift in the night Saar tried to turn and move. The view would have been quite the spectacular if the Orc hand't been pissing his pants. Though... He didn't have any pants, nor undergarments nor his unmatched armor set as all had been stripped off from him.
And despite really wanting to, Saar couldn't move even an inch. His arms and legs were twisted and tied up behind, his body was in kneeling position and ropes were tightened across his middle and his throat to trap him against a dead tree trunk behind his back.
In confusion and panic he only made splinters dug into his back and rope burns create into his dark grey, thick skin.
But alone at the edge of the cliff, outside the camp, Saar had plenty of time to calm down.

At the morning the Orc was nicely informed, with some kicks and mocking, that he was going to be used as a sacrifice, cut open and his organs taken, when both moons would be full at a night sky.
And until then, he was going to be kept there as their prisoner.
Saar wished the madmen had just thrown him over the cliff after all.

During passing these five days the Forswons had tortured him with the basic kicking and hitting, not wanting to kill him just yet, mocking and laughing at the big strong beast being so weak and able to just struggle. On the second day one had gotten excited a bit too much and started to cut Saar's tattooed chest and arms, tracing the black spirals and patterns until Saar's screams and flowing blood made others to stop the act.
Didn't want the sacrificial lamb bleed to death just yet.
The health potion had stopped the bleeding and eased some of his pains, but not enough.
The lasting kneeling position had made Saar's muscles stiff and numb, his untreated wounds stinging and the elements against his bear form wearing.
The summer sun burned down at him during daytime and at night the cold stone and howling wind froze him. On the fourth night it rained.

The situation was bad, one of his top five. He was going to die by these crazy bastards' hands. Being cut open for their some crazy god.
And he couldn't fight back at all.

Saar was despise of his start just like any other Orc in physical way. Though he maybe was even taller than another Orc. He was a tall and big Orsimer, he was wide in every way, strong as a bear and fighting was in his hot blood.
Maybe it had been his viciousness that had made the Forsworns spare him to be sacrificed. Still, this was not how an Orc should die. Bounded, weakened and unable to fight back.
They should have just thrown him over the ledge...

Passing each day, being given little food to keep breathing and then being beaten, had fast made Saar weak.
His skin was more pale grey than dark, he couldn't feel nor budge his thick and long limbs, his right dark brown eye's vision wasn't so clear as the left one's and his mouth felt oddly sticky. His right tusk, that had broken from its middle, ached even though the bleeding had stopped.
Staying awake was being difficult but he also couldn't sleep.

The Orc was dragged back to present by a sharp kick to his side.
Taking a breath, the simple act painful, he pried his left eye open as the other one was swollen shut. Saar tried to glare up at the Forsworn who stood there with a torch.
Even if it was still night and the headgear shadowed the Forsworn's face, the grey Orc could just picture the mocking grin of the guard. And then clearly see it when the bastard crouched and brought the torch near to Saar's face, making the Orsimer flinch from the heat and bright light.
He instinctively tried to move away, the ropes stopping his frail attempt and his body protesting against any movement.
He could only shut his eyes and grit, listen as the Forsworn enjoyed of his torturing, waving the fire near the pale, scarred and bruised grey skin of the Orsimer.
Luckily Saar kept shaven head, but he was terrified to think that what if some spark would catch on his full black beard that had grown thick by now.

Finally the guard pulled the torch away while gaggling and Saar felt his face prickling from the heat. The thought of getting burned made the twenty-five years old Orsimer feel fear. And anger, wanting to get from these ropes and go on full rampage. Kill every woman and man in this camp, rip them apart and leave their bodies hanging over the edge and be dried up by the sun.
Damn these crazy bastards!
Saar really hadn't born under lucky stars...

"The day is coming slowly Orc", the guard said in conversational tone, looking through the weakened Orc's body, looking all the dark bruises, open wounds and swollen parts. The half-Breton slapped the Orsimer's stubble head. The mer just grunted weakly, although at the beginning he had roared and cursed at them.
"Cheer up buddy, morning is soon here and we can enjoy of the sunrise together." the Forsworn said while getting up.
Getting irritated Saar mumbled. The guard looked down at him.
"What was that?"
The guard waited for a moment with amusement, wanting to hear what the Orc had said if the beast looking could even really think or just repeat what it had learned.
But as the moment kept stretching, the Forsworn quickly lost his patience.

Saar wasn't ready nor was any able to brace to the vicious kicking. He could only take it, close his eyes and bear through the act.
The kicking abruptly halted though, stopping just after couple of vicious kicks.
Hearing sounds Saar cautiously opened his seeing eye, and stared in confusion as the guard now lied on the ground, torch dropped and an arrow sticking from the half-Nord's head.

Blinking, abashed, the Orsimer stared and tried to understand what had happened. And then even more, when by Malacath things started to happen behind him in the camp.
Soon he could hear Forsworns readying to a fight, yelling at each other and trying to locate the attackers. There was an uphill behind the camp with covering trees and in front just the cliff, so it wasn't hard to know which direction the arrows were coming from.
With hammering heart, sweat on forehead and trying effortlessly free from his binds, muscles aching, Saar tried to listen and keep up with things.
Who was attacking the camp? Hold's guards? Mercenaries? Other crazy people? Were they going to be Saar's saviors or kill him too?
Not able to turn and see what all the noises were and why Saar could only wait and see what would happen to him.
Maybe they wouldn't notice him, out of the camp's lights. But then in other hand they had shot the guard when he had been abusing the bounded Orc.

To Saar's interest he only heard Forsworns, or at least he thought it was only the crazy bastards, shouting at first battle cries before yelling in surprise and agony, stumbling and falling as the camp got quiet quickly.
Was it another rival Forsworn tribe? Saar had heard the Forsworns sometimes fought among themselves.
The silence falling over the camp unnerved him.
Pointy ears twitching he next heard lonely footsteps in the camp.
One person, were was the rest? Or was this one just inspecting for survivors ahead?
Well... If they were going to kill him, better by someone else than the Madmen. At least this one would surely give him more quicker, less painful death.
Wasn't like Saar had anything to loose nor anyone to miss him after all.
And it wasn't like in the end he didn't deserve this kind of dishonorable death without able to fight back.

As the footsteps kept approaching his direction and then were right behind him, the Orsimer closed his eyes for a moment.
Then opened them to give one last glance at the open scenery in front of him.
During these days of torture he really had not much time to look at the nice view and really enjoy of it. But now, the two moons up at the sky, stars bright and the whole Reach to him to see...
This could be worse.
He could have died that one time in the shitty Falmer cave if the other bandit hadn't tripped and slowed the blind creatures, giving Saar the opportunity to escape. At least he could watch the open starry sky as he would be executed.

Seeing the person standing next to him from the corner of his eye, the Orc slowly turned his face to side and then up. Wanting to see who was going to end him.

The person was wearing almost full heavy armor set, made from steel as far as Saar could identify, with unknown design on it. With lots of dark fur and a picture of a wolf's head on middle of the collar. A dark brown wolf hide covered the person's head and shoulders, its front paws circling their chest. Their lower face was covered with a black cloth.
From the unique gear, as Saar had not seen one before, the Orc next noticed the weapon they hold on their hands.
It looked like a bow, arrow loaded in it. But the thing was small, golden and mechanical with gears and-
The person whirled around, soothing with the thing as it sent the arrow flying and then Saar could hear curling voice and a body hitting the ground.
He didn't take his eyes from the stranger, swallowing silently under their shadowed gaze as they slowly turned back to him.
They cocked their head to side, the wolf hide's head wobbling from the movement.
Saar kept waiting, nervous and yet needing some kind of release.

"Are you Saar?" the stranger finally questioned with a feminine voice.
A woman?
The Orc was still pretty dizzy from the days of torture and the sudden happening. And still not being sure what was the woman's intentions towards him. However, after a moment the archer looked down from his face and Saar felt his cheeks heating from the condition he was in, feeling ashamed. He looked away, stiffening when the other one crouched, putting away the strange weapon and pulled out a dagger from her belt.
From the sight of it Saar inhaled heavily, ready to die, but halting as the quick breathing made his chest hurt.
The weapon wasn't used on him though, not the way he excepted, as his bounds were instead cut off.
First hands, legs and then his body.

Being on the same position for long period, blood circling difficult in his limbs, had made his body stiff and numb.
The mer immediately tipped over, for a moment believing that this time he was going to fall over the near edge, but instead he just kinda sprawled against the cold stone ground, face with tusks slamming down and limbs spreading.
Soon the now free muscles started to tingle and ache more, a good kind of aching, as the blood started flow back into them. His body was in pain but being free was completely divine feeling, no matter of anything else.
"...Ummm", the stranger's voice said uncertainly as Saar didn't move at all. He couldn't and didn't want to.
He just wanted to lay there and let his body to relax.

The woman however grabbed his shoulders hesitantly, carefully and slowly turning him around but still making the Orsimer groan from pain. With one eye Saar looked at the woman's shadowed face. He could sense uncertainty from her, her hands still and she not moving at first.
Saar wasn't sure what was the problem here. Was she helping or going to kill him? Or something else?
Just a moment she was killing Forsworns and now she was hesitating with a half-dead, naked bandit? She was looking for him after all, asking his identity, and it could only mean she was after the bounty of his head.
Saar was too tired to care now if she was going to kill him. Would be just good, he was in crappy state now...

Guess he had lost his consciousness for a moment there.
Orc's head was resting against the woman's fur covered lap, his body covered with a cloak and she was sitting while offering a potion to Saar's lips. The smell reveled it to be a health potion.
The Orsimer frowned in confusion, looking up at the archer who glanced between him and the almost fully tilted bottle.
"Ah!" she said and hold the potion up. "It's not poisoned, it's a health potion. I- I thought it would be good for you? You... Um, seem pretty beaten up?"
Saar frowned more at the whole thing. Her soft, honest and unsure attitude and the attempt to help him.
Placing other hand against Saar's shaven head she tried to offer the potion again, tentatively placing the flask against his thin, dried and closed lips.
Not sure what was the game she was playing, Saar however opened his mouth and let the stranger pour slowly the bitter content that the Orsimer drunk slowly at first.
Then a bit more eagerly, bitter tasting and water or not but he was thirsty.
The magic immediately started to work as soothing, warm tingling spread to every wound and pain in his body. It also soothed the reaction body has when it suddenly after constant denial gets something to drink or eat in big amount and fast.

The stranger put away the empty small flask, placing both of her hands either side of Saar's head. Just holding them there, fingers lightly touching the stubble of the Orsimer's head.
It was a strange, calm gesture. The whole situation was strange.
If the woman was a mercenary, they sure as Oblivion didn't do this kind of thing to their targets. Or was she a sadist, just worse than Forsworns, by being first nice and then bad?
...Despite his thoughts Saar didn't think that was the thing here. He had met some shady, bad and cunning people in his life and this one didn't appear like one. Or she was just that good. She still had killed a whole camp of Forsworn quickly.
Swallowing, spreading the moisture inside his mouth Saar finally asked with a raspy voice. Talking was hard but he needed to know.
"Why... Are you looking... For me?"
The woman tilted her head.
"So you are Saar?"
He nodded slightly, feeling the movement making his skin connect with the cool fingertips against the sides of his head.
"Oh, well, I'm here for the", she hesitated for a moment, pulling away her hands to sides like just noticing them touching him. "For the bounty of you. So you really are Saar? I wasn't sure but..."

If he had not been naked under the cloak against cold stone with wounds and pain that potion hadn't yet healed, dead Forsworns around, hungry and thirsty and tired...
Saar would have started laughing.