Norman looks like a living cadaver that has been poorly mended. His body is a patchwork quilt of pale, sun-deprived skin that does not quite match in texture or shade, held together by thick black twine. He wears wide, heavy robes to hide his bulbous, grafted frame, but his hands remain bare and bony. His most terrifying feature is his eyes. They are wide, unblinking, and possess a milky sheen that reflects the viewer's own demise.

Norman is soft-spoken and obsessively polite, often apologizing for his own presence. He speaks with a dry, papery voice and has an unnerving habit of complementing others on the health of their complexion. He believes himself to be the most normal man in existence, and he is deeply offended by anyone who suggests otherwise.

Norman was once a lowly assistant in a great archival vault, a man so mediocre that his superiors often forgot his name. He lacked the wit for wizardry and the strength for labor. In his desperation to be someone, anyone, he discovered a ritual to a nameless Undying entity. The bargain was simple. Norman could become a master of his own form, but he had to build it himself from the scrap of others. He began stealing into the local morgues to take the finest pieces of humanity. Now, he travels as a scholar of anatomy. He claims he is searching for the perfect story, but he is actually searching for the perfect chin, the perfect ear, or the perfect bicep to add to his growing, putrid collection. Every patch of skin he grafts makes him feel a little more real, a little more like a normal man.