White Beard Name Novels & Stories

The bearded man rubbed his nose, patted the scimitar on his waist, and asked, "You know who I am, right?" "I don’t." Adrian was disgusted by this man, thinking how shameless it was for the latter to dare claim fame because of some lousy weapon. The bearded man became a little impatient. "I’m the famous Purple Scimitar Fighter, Igor Gretzky. That name should jog your memory.” At this moment, many people had gathered behind Igor. Judging from the aura they exuded, they were not to be trifled with. "Oh, I remember now." Adrian did not deny it. "You’re from the Moonlit faction, right?"

"I-I-I apologize. I'm Esmerelda Goodwyn, Elder of Thunder Whitecloud." I nodded. "Greetings and salutations, Esmerelda." I turned to the man sitting next to her. He chuckled. "I'm Garreth Whitehead." He looked to be of Asian descent, but where he'd gotten a name like Garreth was anyone's guess. His dark hair was brushed back from his face. His dark eyes twinkled as he nodded at me.

ATTIRE His attire aligned well with his looks and character. Being a supernatural entity of knowledge, who has literally all about the universe and its fabric in his head, no looks suits such personality other than an aged white bearded man. Possessing curly hair, a staff which was close to no use, and a garment that signified simplicity.

Daisy didn't understand why he asked this. "See? Is my hair and beard gray?" The man looked at Daisy with an interesting face. He reached out his hand to touch his chin and suddenly realized, "Ah... I'm sorry, I don't have a beard. Sorry to let you down." "..." Daisy was stunned. The answer was almost certain in her heart, but she couldn't believe it. She looked back at her classmate. The classmate hurried to Daisy and whispered, "This is Prof. Richard, the expert."

His graying white hair and snowing beard added a touch to his unearthly aura. He was the master of Fleming Manor, Adeptus Cirrus!

The white bearded old man glanced at Tadhg Walter for a moment, then he saw Tadhg Walter coming. "You still have a familiar aura on your body, it's that old man of the tortoise, corn... The remnant soul just dissipated not long ago, it seems that he has lived for a long time in the end." The old man mumbled, and didn't pay attention to Tadhg Walter at all, completely deciding there for himself. "Which side are you from?" Tadhg Walter asked softly. "Me? You're just a wild spirit, there's no need to say a useless name." That old man is also a gentle man, he does not want to tell Tadhg Walter his name.

Back in the village where everything began, two older men were engaged in conversation. They sat on small stools within a well-lit hall with small bowls filled with mead before them. Both had heads full of grey hair and wrinkled faces. However, that was where their similarities ended. Whilst one of them was relatively dashing yet ordinarily dressed, the other had several peculiar piercings all over his body. As if that wasn’t enough, he had ornaments of iron hugging his wrist and ankle joints. His eyes were entirely white in color, and his expression that of total nonchalance. These two old men where Old fan and Chief Doctor Kaka.

I commanded harshly. He wore charcoal formal pants, a matching dressed shirt with a couple buttons undone. His dark blonde hair was sleeked back, polished in his appearance despite the chaos. A matching beard that was perfectly trimmed while his built resembled a Viking. He appeared to be in his late thirties, prominent lines upon his forehead yet he looked completely at ease. My brows furrowed, he was confident in the face of the King. Which only meant one thing, he was the leader of The Rebel’s Creed – Bjorn.

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.

His neatly-styled handlebar mustache curled in either direction of his face. “Some retain beards from mortality,” he continued, “but cannot grow them back if they are shaven. We, the Immortal Beard Society, propose that a man cannot truly be a man unless he can grow facial hair even after he has become immortal.” “Here, here!” barked the other men. Loretta bit her fist to stifle her giggles. “It is time we welcomed our new applicants,” said Mr. Pervis. He gestured to a small group of gentlemen sitting in a line of chairs. The Immortal Beard Society regarded these applicants with henceforth-unimpressed eyes.