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Dark Rocks

The Sustantia Sword

Intentionally designed as a heavier sidesword, this ambidextrous offering features a wide blade taper. The slight forward balance lends itself to cutting actions. This is paired with a shorter grip and wide pommel, allowing for increased manoeuvrability.

The result is a sword which rotates beautifully about its centrally distributed mass, with a good amount of flex despite the "tippy" weighting.

The custom-sized symmetrical hilt is made from imposing bars with simple decorative elements, maintaining a beautiful yet martial aesthetic. Closed ports and a substantial knuckle bow offer durable hand protection for confidence in the bind.

Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.


∴ Specs ∴

  • Weight: 1500g

  • Total length: 110cm

  • Blade length: 97cm

  • Blade width: 3.5cm

  • Blade stock: 6mm

  • Grip length: 6cm

  • Grip and pommel length: 11cm

  • Quillon span: 27cm

  • Point of Balance: 12.5cm

  • Ambidextrous

  • 2mm edges

  • Fencing flex

  • Swollen tip


∴ Notes ∴


The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and large coin pommel are blackened to a matte finish.

The guard is symmetrical, featuring pierced and closed ports. The rings and knuckleguard are formed from substantial bars, and feature raised details to the centre of each. These are mirrored in the terminals of the straight quillons.

The oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then in dark brown leather. The blade features a single central fuller.


∴ Gallery ∴


∴ A Heavy Blow ∴

Your father had no love for war. He scolded you and your brothers for playing at knights, and clicked his tongue in disdain when armour-clad mercenaries sloped into the tavern. He once refused to serve a group of youths on their way North to enlist.

There were no brawls in his well-behaved wayhouse. The locals knew too well that a scuffle over cards or a pretty wench would have them barred for life. And much as they might have called any other man coward or traitor, a glance at the towering barman's bulk and brawn quickly silenced such sentiments.

No, he never had any love for war. Which is why you can barely bring yourself to look at the slender, leather-wrapped object on the table before you. Your inheritance, your mother said. He wanted you to have it. With a heavy sigh and a sinking feeling, you begin to unwrap the winding sheet.

It is, as you knew it would be, a sword. Not a new sword either, but notched and tarnished with use. Broad-bladed and heavy of hilt, its substantial black bars swell into skeletal knuckles. It is as beautiful as it is unbearable. Where did your father come by such a thing? For how long has it been sat in the rafters while he preached peace and temperance? What deeds has it done, and did they die with the gentle giant who once wielded it?

You clench a fist about the battered brown leather grip, pressing the wide pommel against the crook of your palm. Of course it is a perfect fit. As you raise it from the its wrappings, a yellowed scrap of parchment slips from beneath the blade. Sword in hand, you stoop to read it.

"Finish what I could not," is all it says.

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