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Dark Rocks

The Ingela Tessack

Based on an extant original, this maritime-detailed sword features a medium-curved blade with a trailing tip, and a wide scallop shell guard made from hardened steel for robust hand protection. The tessack is slightly back-weighted, but with enough weight in blade for it to tip well in the cut. The hot-forged bar work incorporates a thumb ring, while a tapering cord-wrap grip provides extra grip, comfort and control. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.


∴ Specs ∴

  • Weight: 1360g

  • Total length: 92cm

  • Blade length: 31"

  • Blade width at base: 3.5cm

  • Grip length: 10cm

  • Grip and pommel length: 13cm

  • Quillon span: 26cm

  • Inside shell: 6cm

  • Point of Balance: 8cm

  • 2mm edges

  • Rounded tip

  • Fencing flex


∴ Notes ∴

The hardwood grip is wrapped in resin-infused cord. The hot-forged hardened steel furniture is oil blackened to a matte finish. The scallop shell guard and pommel feature hand-carved decoration.


∴ Gallery ∴


∴ A Sweeping Glance ∴

You're woken by shouts from a sea-rocked slumber. Startled, you wrench back the draped curtain and clamber from your warm bed into still-damp boots. Haphazardly lacing your doublet, you steal a glance through the leaded glass of your cabin. Barely discernible through a thick stripe of fog, you glimpse the small yet unmistakable shadow of a ship.

Slinging a baldric over your shoulder, you throw open the small double doors and storm up the steps to the deck. Privateers, the mate says, he's certain. You snatch the telescope from his hand to see the three-tailed flag for yourself. The crest is indistinct, but the colours are unmistakable. You curse.

You swing the telescope downward, momentarily dizzied, to make out what you can of the crew. Gradually, the colours inhabiting the orb of your vision take form. The dark cylinders of guns, behind them a flurry of activity. One figure alone stands still, poised at the forecastle, a flash of slender steel to the right.

You can't begin to make out the details, but somehow you know. Something in the posture, the intense unmoving brooding. You know, without waiting to see, that the blade held almost casually over the figure's shoulder is long, curved and unforgiving, ending in a blackened scallop shell. You know that the hand beneath the shell is small, pale, adorned with a puckered scar and a garnet ring.

"It's her," you whisper.

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