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Dark Rocks

The Cutwater Sidesword



This elegantly sweeping sidesword posed a rare and interesting challenge, as our client asked us to rehilt an Albion blade. While Chris is more accustomed to making swords in their entirety, he couldn't pass up the chance to put a good blade back into service.


The blade feels robust in the hand, and called for a hilt that would lend authority and bring out its historical feel in the hand.


The new hilt is based on an original selected by our client, with adaptations made to match his other sidesword: a classic Wallace Collection A535 replica. To this end, the ends of the quillons and knuckle guard swell into a conical shape, and the closed port is pierced with a pattern of stars and crosses.


This imposing beauty is named after the archaic term for the prow of a ship - a reference to the severe elegance of its swooping knuckleguard, which meets the swept in a prow-like shape.


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



 

∴ Specs ∴


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  • Total length: 110cm

  • Blade length: 95cm

  • Blade width: 3.7cm

  • Blade stock: 6cm

  • Grip length: 9cm

  • Grip and pommel: 13.5cm

  • Quillon span: 21cm

  • Point of Balance: 10cm

  • Weight: 1465g

  • Right-handed

  • Blunt edges

  • Rounded tip

  • Fencing flex






 

∴ Notes ∴


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


The guard features rounded barwork, S-shaped quillons with swollen ends, and a swept that meets the knuckleguard. The quillon block has hand-carved line details and the closed port has a pierced pattern of crosses and stars.


The oak grip is wrapped in resin-soaked cord, and the construction is finished with a faceted steel nut.


 

∴ Gallery ∴



 

∴ A Cutting Wind ∴


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The wind tugs the galley door open even as your hand twists the knob, flinging it back on its hinges hard enough to smash the wooden shutters. You rub at your wrenched shoulder before gritting your teeth and stepping out into the squall.


No rain yet, no stinging sleet, but wind fierce enough to threaten your balance with every step, leaving you with little recourse but to creep along the railing like a ship's rat, feeling your way.


As you reach the ship's stately prow you fancy that the figurehead - a handsome wooden serpent - is likewise wincing against the high winds. Hand over hand you shift your weight closer toward it, til the safety of the ship is at your back, and all that fills your vision is the proud snake and the wide, wild sea.


At once you are overcome by  the perilous dance of cutting prow and crashing wave. A giggle rises unbidden in your throat. On impulse you reach for your sword, leaning low against the wooden bowsprit to steady yourself. As you draw the handsome weapon, you note the curve of its blackened knuckleguard, like the barrel-chest of a ship. You laugh out loud and brandish the broad blade at the screaming sky. You have never felt so small, or so free. 


"Your Honour?" a call comes from behind you, half silenced by the wind's wailing rush. You frown, and focus on the last shreds of your euphoria before they, too, blow away. You want to remember this. Remember the feeling.


"Your Honour," the voice is closer now, as concerned as it is commanding, "Come down from there at once!"

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