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Norwood never expected to be anybody special. He was the son of a farmer and a woodsman, and he grew up as a tenant landholder might. He learned the quiet patience of the beekeeper and the soft sounds of the woods. He hunted with his brothers and while they were never really wealthy, they always had enough. Everything changed for Norwood when he heard the scream of a little girl in the woods, and ran to see what it was. Young Jael Laurent, all of eight years old, had escaped her watchers and found herself menaced by a bear -- a real bear, not a Redrain, he'll often stop this story to explain; "This isn't that kind of story." As a huntsman, he knew a few tricks around bears, and managed to get his attention away from the tree that had treed the young lady. When he brought her home to her parents, he was raised a knight. Sir Norwood Clement. The thing is, he didn't know how to be a knight, but at that point in his life, he was a young widower with little to him but his name and a few dozen beehives. So he threw himself into training. He threw himself into the service of the Laurents. He began working with their men-at-arms and became a loyal household fixture, Norwood Clement and his bees and his hunting hounds. Years passed, and Norwood grew in reputation and in skill. He also had a reputation for never having lost that beekeeper's patience. So it was to him that Jael's adolescent tantruming was dealt as a problem, to help her learn discipline. Perhaps it was this service more than any other that brought him to mind for House Laurent when their old Sword retired, for it was to him that the Sword of Artshall was given, as not the youngest but maybe the finest and definitely the most loyal knight in all their duchy.

Brown-skinned and weathered, Norwood looks old for his age in a seasoned way, his dark beard threaded with silver and his thick dark hair beginning to recede. His eyes are quiet, deepset and a brown so dark they are nearly black. His features carry a rugged strength, matched by the breadth of his shoulders and his large, roughened hands. His strength is suggested by the broad bulwark of his chest and back. He is tall as well as solid, a big man with a measured, composed way of carrying himself.

Norwood suffers with a world-weary patience. He is quiet and dry and reserved. Beneath that dry edge is a deep well of compassion. He is warm, thoughtful and considered. He almost always thinks before he speaks and lends the weight of maturity to what he has to say. He has never entirely shed old pain, with a deep, romantic heart in his chest that never entirely recovered from losing a wife young, but he fills his need for connection by being sweetly open to quiet, contained friendships and warm acquaintances with others. His loyalty is unshakable, unswerving, and deeply patient. Not the smartest man in the world, he carries with him a near ineffable wisdom beyond his years.