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A generally softly spoken man, with an aura of holiness about him that is almost palapble. There is also within his eyes a deep regret, but for what it is unknown. It is generally agreed that Marcus skipped a couple of centuries in a feat of magic gone wrong, though he never speaks of his past. Only a small dagger, finely crafted, upon his desk and the cross around his neck are not of the modern day.

Marcus tends to the day to day needs of the chantry. His saintly patience is almost legendary, and his large frame is intimidating to even the most bolshy of apprentices. He rules the chantry firmly, but fairly.

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