"Listener..." The Nightmother's dry, rugged voice run in Noxtain's head. The Argonian froze, all joints locked in place, his ever-swishing tail went rigid in concentration. He was at home in Whiterun, mixing potions as per usual... "A contract has been made, child of Sithis..." The Lady of Death's droning inflection clung to him as if it was dripping, sogging Black Marsh algae. "Go, go to Riften, The Ratway my Listener... You'll find her..." As soon as the chilling 'conversation' started it had ended.

Shhnap- the potion bottle Noxtain had been grasping shattered,"Tsssht, damn it!" The Argonian shook his clawed hands in frustration, wincing as different sizes of shards fell loosely out of his palms. "Everything all ri- by the Gods, Nox!" Marcuio had popped around the corner, the loud cursing of his husband had alerted. The Imperial's pale eyes glimmered at the shattered glass, "What happened?" He hurried to his husband, placing his hand delicately on the Argonian's shoulder, "Didn't your mother teach you not to play with glass?" He quipped.

The Dragonborn's nostrils flared slightly, but he couldn't keep back a small chuckle, "Nothin'..." He looked down at the floor, "Just got a contract, focused to hard, and well... This," he held open his palms, and Marcuio did an over dramatic gasp, "I'll fetch some water, dear. Need any cloth to bind the wounds?" The Mage asked. Noxtain shook his cranium, "No, it's not that bad," his tail started to twitch again as normal, "Some water is fine, though. Then I've ought to be off," Noxtain voiced, nuzzling his scaled head into his husband's chest, "Love ya," his voice muffled by the Imperial's off-yellow robes. "Your timing is always so... Awful," the mage chuckled.