Marrek moves like a held breath—quiet, precise, the quiet confidence of someone who has learned how to vanish and return on cue. He wears a hood habitually pulled low, its inner lining stitched with thin runes of memory. His studded leather is matte and scuffed at the knees and shoulders; over it, forearms are encased in fitted obsidian metal gauntlets, each set with a cabochon red crystal at the back of the hand. From these crystals a narrow, red incandescent beam can be drawn and fired along a straight line. His jaw carries a faint, ragged scar that continues up to the left ear. When stationary he fidgets with the gauntlets' tiny, almost-hidden knobs, tuning their hum. Unexpectedly, when under direct moonlight his irises show a faint, shifting silver speckle—like a delay on reflection, as though his eyes keep part of a second behind the world.