Novelas y relatos de White Beard

His forehead tightened, and his neck hung down; the skin squeezing together to form long wrinkles that disappeared under his torn shirt. I watched his skin hang limply around his face until he was now an old man, aged by wrinkles and clasping his spotted hands together. His veins were so prominent that they protruded from under his skin. His eyes had sunk back into his head but were still sparkling; which was the only life about him. Even his black hair had shrivelled into wiry grey strands that were tangled around his balding head.

"What do they have to do with it?" The part of the beard that was not tucked into his belt started dancing as the air changed in the room. Something was there. Something much stronger than the voice he heard. It was too strong to be a girtal shady-man. The room was empty again; the voice and that stronger thing were gone. His long mane, which was once dark brown was now completely white, changed the direction of its movement. "Whatever it was," the king said in a whisper, "he will return again." There was something strange about that power, very weird.

She was a lovely young woman with looks that rivaled her sister’s. **** As they neared the ridge, Tara eyed the old wizard with curiosity. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fairy tale. His long white and incredibly fluffy beard looked soft and supple as it cascaded down the front of his torso, hugging his rounded stomach affectionately. Although not a tall man, he held his body so erect it gave the illusion he was much taller than the five-foot, six inches of his true height. The grey tufts of outlandishly wild hair, rosy cheeks, broad smile and rounded belly reminded her of Santa Clause. All he lacked was a red suit and a few reindeer.

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.

she said and they all agreed. The man was middle aged but had a long white beard. He was wearing a long dark robe that got to his ankles with a matching long pointed hat. The redhead almost laughed at his appearance. If only these humans knew that magicians don't really go around dressing like this, her wolf said. If they knew, maybe the world would be a better place, the girl replied.

His long silvery-white beard along with an equally pristine white robe was a stark contrast to the various shades of green and colorful flora everywhere around him. The man was probably a few thousand years old but barely looked to be seventy. There were fine wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes but save that his skin looked taut and firm. His eyes darted from left to right as he looked around searching for what he had come for. It had been his third attempt and his patience was beginning to wear off. The first two times he had let the intruder leave but not now. The robe swished in the wind and the man flicked his finger at the robe, silencing the noi

The dress was appropriate but all white. The white beard was reaching the chest, the color was red and white and the skin was hanging. According to Alian's estimate, his age would be around ninety. Silently, he sat on one side of the old rotten bed and watched his place being prepared, and when he was laid there, he stood on one side and scratched his throat. "Is there any other necessary equipment? Bring that too and put it aside." The old man said in a trembling voice, and then they all started looking at each other.

A voice called from the conservatory. I turned to see a rather tall man sitting in a wheelchair. I could tell he was tall by the way his legs stretched out onto the extended feet supports. His handsome face was concealed behind a long beard, mainly grey and above it I could see the spider’s web of broken veins. His eyebrows were bushy, with grey fingers of hair pointing to the side, but it was the hair on his head that drew the eye. It was bushy and wild, straggling down to his shoulders.

We stare at each other with the same stern expression as we check out one another. He was huge and tall, the exact opposite of me. He had black wild hair, and black medium length beard that made him look much older than twenty eight. It made him look extra manly and masculine especially since it was supported by broad shoulders, hard rippled arm muscles, and no doubt a well shaped six pack underneath his black, button down, long sleeve shirt. The shirt was untucked, and the sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows. He was wearing a black skinny jeans underneath.

Nicholas Nicholas felt like a complete imposter. He was the last person on Earth that should be dressed like this. He checked Molly's now empty duffel bag one last time and tried to adjust the white beard. It was scratchy on his face and smelled a little dusty. His own father, the usual Santa, had a real beard. He wondered just how long this one had been in storage. He came out from the back of the shop ow decked out in Santa’s over-sized black boots, Santa’s long, white beard, Santa’s pair of ever-present, tiny glasses, and Santa’s tell-tale, jolly stomach, which now protruded out from Nicholas’ slim frame.