Icathilis turned the block of ore over and over in his hand imagining each hammer strike that would shape it into the weapon it would become. Soon he could see beyond the block of rough silver in his hand and saw himself instead holding a fine razor edged dagger with fine filigree and gems inset. He set down the bar. “Perhaps tomorrow” he said to himself. He had done this ritual several times. He knew that the perfect weapon was in there it just required his patience and determination to draw it out.
The white bearded folk are resilient to a fault and stubborn as the grave, and seem to be revered among their kin. Of all the bearded folk they possess the greatest endurance and tirelessness. In open dialogue this would never be admitted by any of the Bearded Folk. At the end of any fight the Bearded Folk look to the Frostbeards to be the last ones standing. Frostbeards say this is because they are patient; patient to die; patient to fight.
They understand the end comes to all. Willing to face any foe eye-to-eye and steel-to-steel, they see the fight as the ultimate sign of respect and courage. The ice has left their beards frozen in blue and white as well as some of their skin, but their hearts beat fast and hot. Their forges of ice and of fire ring with the music of their people and they all sing along.