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Dark Rocks

The Chalice Transitional Rapier

This stunning transitional rapier is based on a 17th Century original our client found on an auction site. Featuring a scalloped dish guard and scrolling quillons, its design straddles the practical and the beautiful, avoiding excess weight while maintaining striking features and carved details.

Narrow-bladed and nimble in the hand, its handling is somewhere between that of a rapier and a smallsword. It is named for the chalice-like appearance of its hot-punched dish guard, which offers a reassuring amount of hand protection.

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


∴ Specs ∴

  • Weight: 850g

  • Total length: 119cm

  • Blade length: 100.5cm

  • Blade width: 2cm

  • Blade stock: 6mm

  • Grip length: 7.5cm

  • Grip and pommel length: 12.5cm

  • Quillon span: 16cm

  • Point of Balance: 14cm

  • Ambidextrous

  • 2mm edges

  • Fencing flex

  • Swollen tip


∴ Notes ∴

IMG_7610 (1)

The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are blackened to a matte finish. The pommel takes an ovoid form, hand-carved with fluting.

The guard comprises of curling quillons and a segmented and scalloped dish, hand-punched and filed into a petal pattern. This sits over a false ricasso, with hand-carved line detailing.

The oval-sectioned oak grip is wrapped in twisted steel wire, finished to top and bottom with Turk's head knots.


∴ Gallery ∴


∴ A Cup Overflowing ∴

You kneel before the altar, the rail before you smoothed by centuries of supplicant hands, the unforgiving flagstones pressing against your knees. Staring down at your own callused fingers, you try to clear your mind of earthly things - but to no avail.

You cannot help but replay the last duel over and over, analysing each feint and flurry, barely suppressing a smile as you recall the frantic dance, the playful balance of energies. The thing was, though, he almost had you. Were it not for a startled and scruffy parry, which sent your opponent's blade plunging into the black dish of your guard rather than your chest, your duelling days would be over.

"The blood of Christ."

You snap your eyes upward, reveries interrupted. The priest stands before you, patient and inscrutable, the chalice proffered in his vein-lined hand. With a nod of reverence you reach for the sacred vessel, noting the scalloped rim, the subtle petal-like segments. Confound it! Even this - the blood of Christ himself - cannot fail to remind you of the sword.

You choke back the thick, sweet wine, and pull yourself to your feet. It is not this cup that will bring you salvation. Not today. Turning on your heel, you half-run for the door, oblivious to the wide-eyed stares of queuing penitents.

You have drilling to do.


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