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He flew to Nepal. He trekked for six days, the fake beard itching like a thousand ants, yet held firm by the Forge’s industrial-grade spirit gum. Finally, at the Gate of Whispers, a spectral monk materialized. The monk looked at Arthur’s magnificent, flowing silver beard, nodding in deep, silent respect. "Pass, Elder," the ghost chimed.

Arthur stepped into the sanctuary, found the fountain, and took a long, cold drink. He felt a surge of power, his vision cleared, and his back straightened. He had done it. He had cheated the supernatural. where can you buy a fake beard

As he turned to leave, a sudden, violent sneeze erupted from his lungs. The force of it—combined with the high-altitude sweat—compromised the Forge’s legendary adhesive. The right side of the beard peeled away, flapping in the wind like a dying crow. The monk’s eyes narrowed. The mountain began to tremble. He flew to Nepal