White Beard Die Novels & Stories

"Where's the wolf man and what we've been preserving in him?" "I'm afraid he died." A man with white beards spoke, almost too bold. "What?" Azelbub's anger boiled in his veins. "And the substance?" He went closer to the man and squinted his eyes at him, anger flaring out of his nose. "I'm afraid it merged with-"

“If you don’t mind my speaking up, I think he might still be alive!” Dale looked up with such speed that his neck nearly snapped. He scrutinized the man who spoke those words. He was standing in front and looking down at them. He was nearly six feet tall, bald and white-bearded. He had a dignified expression and was dressed in white noble clothing. His white robe and beard fluttered in the wind slightly as he looked at the crying Dale and supposedly dead Wilson. When Dale said nothing and looked on in a daze, the old man continued speaking.

What do you mean by that," Anslem asked. "He means that the older werewolves are dying first. It attacks your hide and makes it sick you will be in excruciating pain as your hide remove and attach to your spine at its own will, shortly after a wound in your back opens and your hide is seen in the open, once that happens you are dead" Seth said. "What if we try removing the hide completely by pulling it out of the body," another elder asked. "That would be an alternative to dying the slow death the poison gives," Seth said.

Brandon froze. "That's impossible. I've been full of energy these past few days, and..." Before he could finish, his body started to wither. Within seconds, his hair turned snow-white. With wrinkles carving across his pale face, his lips turned to a frightening shade of purple. His breathing became so weak it was barely noticeable. Standing beside Aria and the others, Wilda watched in horror as the scene unfolded. "What's happening?" Aria's eyes darkened. "Without life essence, people would age instantly."

"I've been searching for answers, and I was told that you might be able to help me." The sage old man appeared slightly different from the image I had seen on the internet. Maybe it was the picture quality or maybe the picture was taken a while back. His features were worn with age and wisdom, and his eyes seemed to hold a depth of knowledge that I could only imagine. My eyes could not help but notice a black leaf-like spot in his all-white beard standing out, rooting from below his lower lip.

And he was at least 65 by now! His hair was gray, peppered with darker shades here and there, cut much shorter than Killian’s. He rocked a short trimmed beard that covered what looked to be the world's best jaw line and I could almost feel a tinge of sadness because of it. He was tall. Tall- tall! Maybe not as tall as Killian, but this man was just as big.

Hayden pointed at an old man in front of him. The old swordsmith was doubtless much older, his sparse hair was all white, his face was covered with wrinkles, and from his chin gripped a long smoke-colored beard, which waved absurdly back and forth, fanned by the breeze. Wearing a long robe of dark blue showed his thin amorphous, but it was dirty and tattered, and looked as if it had not been washed or mended for years. Eyes shining with tears of the elderly, he touched his white beard, pair wise eyes have gradually blurred together.

By her father’s beard, these photographs had to be taken within the year or so of their death. Her dad had started growing it out a year earlier and at the time of his death, it had only just became something that looked like an actual beard. Her dad was cursed with, as he called it, a baby face and he wanted to grow out the beard to look more ‘manly’. Gail remembered he was talking about letting it grow super long, so when he went gray, he’d look like a real wizard.

White hair, over a hundred years old, age spots on the face, and the prayer beads he liked to play with when he was alive were still lying next to him. It's just that, compared to the info she'd looked up, the old man looked even older, because he'd already lost all his collagen. There was just a layer of skin left on his face, and the same went for his body. It seemed like this person just suddenly died of old age. Amelia didn't say much. She checked his features through the scarf with her hand. You could think of it like the old saying feeling the bones—some doctors could tell right away if you had any work done just by touching you.