White Beard Name Novels & Stories

Without wasting any time, he disappeared from that spot. After nearly 10 seconds, somebody else arrived at that spot. An older man. He possessed a head full of white hair and a long shiny white beard. He was wearing a bright robe with Lions on it. He was Tsa Clan's Patriarch and Tsashi's grandfather Tsaki. Although he looked old, he was full of vitality and strength.

He caressed my hair, and my cheeks, and applauded me for making him proud at the last international contest that took place, assuring me that he was on the move to tame Nikki and bring her back to her senses. "Father, who is that white bearded man?" I asked, suddenly his eyes went blank, as though the question hooked his oxygen. He could not believe I actually saw the man as he was exiting the room. My father was always known for his loneliness, but this white-bearded man who looked so familiar seemed to be closer to him. I needed to know who he was. "He is Carlos. He is very good in tiger combats and eagle claw!" My father said. My eyes brightened as I heard that from him. Did my father jus

An old man with white beard and hair followed him in a vigorous manner. The man seemed to be in his 80s or 90s, with a long beard floating in front of his chest. His hair, beard and eyebrows were all white, like silver needles, but he was in good spirits. He was strong, ruddy, and looked like a male lion. He had an imposing manner and not one wrinkle on his face. His eyes were as sharp as lightning, giving people an odd feeling since he had white hair and a youthful face. He was Lu Xiongfei, the first master in the Snow Province, and the former president of the Tranquility Academy.

’ I died a little on my wedding day. Abe comes from Abraham, father of the nations. Bentwhistle comes from the same place as Grimshaw and should have stayed there. My childhood dream of one day ridding myself of Grimshaw is over. I pray I will wake one morning and discover Bentwhistle is one of his many aliases. ‘No one uses Bentwhistle as an alias,’ he assured me. ‘Aliases mustn’t be memorable.’

It was a strong fashion statement. “What if you disguised yourselves?” A big hat and dark glasses probably wouldn’t cut it. “Maybe shave your beards?” There was a gasp from the assembled druids. “No, no, we can’t do that.” “Why not?” I asked “They’ll grow back?” There was a swish of branches behind me. “The beards hide what they really are,” said the tree. “Wilbur, please, we’re trying to have a meeting.” “My name is Xesar, not Wilbur.”

His nose was somewhat droopy, and his lips were hidden behind his thick, white beard, making it hard to tell what they looked like beneath it. Matthew looked at the elderly man, and a thought crossed his mind—he resembled the person Eugenie had described. However, not wanting to come off the wrong way, Matthew cautiously asked, "Mister, who are you?" The white-bearded old man looked at Matthew and sighed before slowly replying, "My name is Bellamy." Matthew was confused. Was he not just known as the white-bearded old man? How had his name suddenly changed to Bellamy? Had Eugenie remembered wrong, or was this old man hiding his true identity?

I guess he has been into a lot of battles and he delivers an aura of a genuine leader. His veins were visible in his hands like the roots of a tree nurtured on good soil, enough sunlight, and has survived amidst all the catastrophes. “I’m Captain Orley Nebuchister El Katanaga De Casteganio Ellisto Puedonito Bastamtike.” I tried not to laugh after hearing his short name. “Your name sounds honorable, Sir. But it’s lengthy and easy to forget. I would suggest you change it into a cooler one like… red beard. Captain Red Beard of the West.”

I could tell he was from scorching sun as he had a tan different from all of us and a smile with a golden tooth laid on one side of his face, flashing it at every given opportunity. “My name is Gareth,” the last man said, as he stood to his feet. I barely heard his name from the amount of beards on his face that mumbled his words. He was a redhead with an orange beard covering his face. You would hardly call him a redhead if you didn’t notice his orange beard as he had a bald head.

Jon started. “How doin’,” the face attached to the hand said. “I’m Brian Elder.” A withered man, fitting his name, somewhere between seventy and eighty, though still spry. He was nearly hairless, with a close-cropped crown of white that blended seamlessly into his alabaster skin. The rest, eyebrows, nose, ears, cheeks, and chin, were scraped as clean as they could be. So white was he that it was nearly impossible to tell where his teeth began and gums ended. He might’ve been mistaken for an albino if not for his deep black eyes.

Men I’ve known since I was an infant, mind you. Zephyr Bakirtzis is the definition of a useless neanderthal. He’s 56 with sickly white skin, brown bushy eyebrows, and a salt and pepper beard that is so unkept that it’s varying in length. His hair is a mid-length mousy brown and if it weren’t for his beard and hair flopping into his eyes, he’d look emaciated. The man seriously needs more red meat in his diet. The dark brown suit he’s wearing is hanging off him and doing nothing for his complexion.