The White Beard Chronicles

A darker take on an old mythos.



The Once-White Cloak

“They’re waiting for you, my lord.”

The old man sighed. Bones ached and muscles cramped. The cold air eased the lump in his throat, but his joints groaned in protest. An old man. Some thought too old.

He leant on the window frame, cracked wood groaning under his weight. Stared out at the snow beyond. Tossed the apple core across the room; a lazy, dejected movement. Heard the clunk as it hit the wall and fell into the steel bin below. Eyes never left the plain.

Dark and still, the world beyond the glass seemed almost peaceful.

Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed. [Read more]


The Night Santa Went Crazy

He watched the elf in the shadows. Skittish; wide-eyed and panicky. Hiding behind the column. As if maybe, if he stayed there long enough, the night would end and all would be as it was.

The old man snorted. About time the elf was put in his place.

He reached for the plate. The half-eaten wrap oozed thick sauce over his white gloves, staining them the colour of his cloak. He waved the wrap in the general direction of the shadows. Wiped a chunk of meat from his beard.

"You can come out, Jangle. There's plenty of food."

The elf wrung his hands as he approached, as if a pin drop would make him scamper away. The old man waved a hand at the table. At the plates of food. At the empty chairs. [Read more]