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Dark Rocks

The Erracht Spadroon



This beautiful spadroon is based on an original housed in the Highlanders Museum at Fort George, which is attributed to Major Sir Alan Cameron of Erracht. With a slender blade and a solid pommel, it is back-weighted with a quick and snakelike presence and a very mobile tip. Ideal for taking and holding the line, it excels in making quick cuts to the wrist.


The guard features a thistle-inspired punching and engraving pattern, inspired by the original but modified to be fencing-safe. A central engraving features the Cameron clan crest, of significance both to the sword's history and to our client. The guard's shape has been adapted from the original to provide extra hand protection, with a modesty bar added to protect the thumb. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.



 

∴ Specs ∴



  • Total length: 109cm

  • Blade length: 91cm

  • Blade width at base: 2.7cm

  • Blade stock: 6mm

  • Grip length: 12cm

  • Grip and pommel: 17cm

  • Grip to guard space: 5.5cm

  • Quillon span: 16cm

  • Weight: 1300g

  • Point of Balance: 4cm

  • Right handed

  • Blunt edges

  • Rounded tip

  • Fencing flex






 

∴ Notes ∴



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


The basket hilt features an extensive piercework pattern, with engraved detailing. A bar to the inside gives extra protection to the thumb. The pommel is a solid sphere with hand-carved line detailing.


The oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then in black kidskin.


The blade is single-edged, and features a false edge to the last third as well as a fuller to the spine, reaching two thirds of the blade's length.

 

∴ Gallery ∴



 

∴ A Highland Embrace ∴



In the morning still you stand, watching the morning mist drape lazily over the landscape. In the half-light, the blanket of moss and heather before you has yet to gain its colour: the battlefield is a ghost of itself, grey and indistinct. Somewhere overhead a lone skylark trills its discontent.


These are the moments when you feel most alive. Not in the heat of battle like the hero you're made out to be, but in the cool, spectral hours before the encampment wakes. Before the weight of responsibility settles again like a mantle over your shoulders.


With a sigh you heft the spadroon in your hand, settling into a familiar stance, ready to begin your solitary drill. It is a beloved thing, this sword: borne with you from highland to island, to continent and far beyond, its guard a spray of steely thistles curled about your hand.


You smile at the thought - even in battle the land embraces you.

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