Darius Titus hesitated at the mouth of the cave. The Imperial Guardsman had been sent out to this Divines-forsaken corner of nowhere in the middle of a wasteland in Skyrim on reports of "suspicious activity". Darius murmured to himself, "It's always just suspicious activity. Why can't these reports ever have details?" He doubted that there was anything of substance to the report. "Suspicious activity" typically meant a few skeevers or wolves. Nothing serious to worry about, but the local guard usually sent a man out to investigate. Just in case. He withdrew a torch from his satchel and lit it with his flint before strapping the satchel on his back and proceeding into the dark cave with his steel sword at the ready. Just in case.
As he made his way through the narrow mouth, he caught the faint smell of roast meat. Darius tensed and quickly put out his torch. That smell usually accompanied a camp, not a skeever den. He unlatched the binding that was holding his shield in place and hefted it, securing the straps around his forearm. "All right, so it's not wild animals. Bandits, perhaps?" Darius tended to think aloud when faced with a potentially precarious position. He made sure to stay quiet, though. Just in case. He crept forward until the soft glow of a campfire made itself known. Seated around said campfire were three Nords. Their armor was not much to speak of, neither were their weapons, and they had a nasty smell about them that made Darius cringe. He got closer, staying silent, until he could make out what they were saying. Two of the Nords had their backs to him, while the third, who seemed to be the leader, was seated across from them and was regaling them with tales of riches and plunder, ripe for the taking from Imperial caravans that were sure to pass by the cave. Darius smiled as he put away his sword and shield. Caravans didn't come this far north, particularly Imperial caravans. This cave was close, too close, to the border of Dawnstar hold. Stormcloak territory. Darius attempted to string his bow, but the bowstring snapped and he inadvertently cursed out loud. He slid behind a jutting rock, hoping that the Nords were dumb enough not to have heard. They seemed to be, for there was no break in conversation, and when Darius chanced a look around the rock, none of them had moved to investigate. He exhaled, relieved that he wasn't dealing with experienced bandits (as if there were such a thing) and successfully strung his bow. He nocked an arrow, pulled back, and aimed at the bandit leader on the far side of the fire. He inhaled, then exhaled, held the breath, and fired. The arrow flew straight between the other two bandits, over the fire, and into the leader's left eye, puncturing the thin membrane separating the eye from the brain and killing him instantly. One of the bandits turned around in time to receive the same treatment from another of Darius' arrows. The third, convinced that his fellows had been slain by a vengeful spirit, doused the fire and ran deeper into the cave. He didn't get very far, however, as a third arrow sprouted from his throat and he fell to the ground, gasping for air as his blood flowed into his lungs, causing him to drown in his own blood.
Darius retrieved each of his arrows, waiting for what seemed an inordinate amount of time for the third bandit to die. He didn't feel comfortable without a full quiver. In truth, he despised the sword and shield fighting that was the default technique taught to Imperial soldiers; he much preferred picking enemies off from a distance from which there was no chance of retaliation. He had gotten quite good at archery over recent years, rivaling the best archers the elves themselves could offer. He still kept sharp with melee and hand-to-hand combat, though. Unlikely though it was, he could potentially be caught unawares at close range, and if that were to happen, he wanted to be able to defend himself. So, he kept a sword and a shield on him at all times. Just in case.