This heroic feder was made as a surprise gift for a friend just starting out on his longsword fencing journey. Chris nodded to his love of fantasy literature in the distressed detailing, hand carvings and tooled leather, but kept the sword as user-friendly as possible.
The sword moves nimbly around the tip, thanks to full-length I-beam fullering and a solid pommel. Ideal for competitive fencing, it has some heft to the blade without feeling heavy.
A ring and thumb spiral to the crossguard offer extra protection to the hands, hopefully encouraging confidence while still allowing for a range of historical grips. The long, straight quillons feature a twisted motif and characterful dog-head terminals, which sit at a downturned angle to help with bind work.
The pommel has striking wrythen carvings, which offer a little extra grip in the gloved hand, and the cord wrapping on the upper half of the grip is resin imbued to better survive the occasional strike.
A combination of HEMA practicality and grimdark fantasy, this feder is named both for the dog head quillon terminals and for a favourite character in Joe Abercrombie's First Law books. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 130.5cm
Blade length: 100cm
Blade width at base: 3.5cm
Blade stock: 6mm
Grip length: 23.5cm
Grip and pommel: 29.5cm
Grip to guard space: 5cm
Quillon span: 28cm
Weight: 1630g
Point of Balance: 8cm
Right-handed
Blunt edges
Rounded tip
Fencing flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are antiqued to a distressed finish.
The crossguard features a ring to the foreguard, a thumb guard to the right side, twisted carvings on the long, straight quillons and downturned dog-head terminals.
The pear-shaped pommel is carved in a wrythen form, with a reliquary-style collar at the base.
The waisted and spiral-carved oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then half covered in brown kidskin, tooled with the recipient's monogram; and half covered in resin-imbued brown cord.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Faithful Rogue ∴
Pulling your weather-beaten cloak free of another patch of bramble, you let out a steady stream of curses. You're no stranger to the wilds, but this bloody forest may be the death of you yet, with its treacherous mud slicks and grasping vines.
A low whine calls your attention downward, where your shaggy hound looks up at you reproachfully. You laugh and scratch the mutt behind the ear, muttering an apology.
The dog has been your travelling companion for longer than you can recall. Longer than anyone, or anything, but for the battered longsword hanging at your hip. While the latter is a silent testament to the years of battles and brigands you've faced, you like to think the former keeps you human.
The gods know the road you walk is no good for man nor beast, but no matter how many times you've tried leaving him in a bustling town or a warm tavern, he keeps on finding you.
Faithfulness is hard to find in a time like this.
Noting the lengthening shadows, you find a patch of higher, drier ground and set about making camp for the night. Soon a small fire is casting flickering shadows onto the gnarled trunks of trees, a battered copper pot simmering over it. You watch as the mutt shuffles in his customary small circles before curling up on the hem of your cloak, his warm breath pluming on the chill air as he begins to snore.
You smile grimly as you clean your sword. Disillusioned of ideals and burned out on revenge, sometimes you wonder why you're still fighting.
Still, you suppose a faithful friend is as good a reason as any.