The Gryphos Rapier
- Alicia Adams
- Jun 25
- 3 min read
Heavily inspired by the aesthetic of our Eris rapier, this custom cup-hilt was created for a client with a history in sport and classical fencing, looking to experiment with more historical rapier play. It was important that this rapier bridged the gap between a fencing foil and a realistic duelling rapier, while also being a thing of beauty that would turn heads at the client's regular "champagne and duelling" sessions.
As such, Chris fine-tuned the sword with a notable back-balance for nimble actions reminiscent of classical fencing, while keeping a bit of weight in the blade, giving it the more authentic feel of a late-period rapier.
The splendid black-and-brass decorative theme of the sword includes an eye-catching grip of brass ribbon and steel wire, a brass pommel with the legend "Ars longa, vita brevis" engraved on it, carved gryphon heads to the quillon terminals and knuckle guard, and an elaborate brass guardapulvo inside the cup.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 108.5cm
Blade length: 94cm
Blade width at base: 2cm
Grip length: 8.5cm
Grip and pommel: 13.5cm
Quillon span: 24.5cm
Weight: 1200g
Point of Balance: 3.5cm from cross
Right-handed
Blunt edges & rounded tip
Fencing safe flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated cup, guard and pommel are blackened to a matte finish. The hand-dished spring steel cup features a brass lozenge to the base, and an elaborately pierced brass guardapulvo to the inside. The cup is affixed by two decoratively carved brass screws.
The guard is formed of flattened round-section bars, with long straight quillons with hand-carved gryphon-head detailing to the terminals. The same gryphon heads are featured on the terminal and to the centre of the knuckle guard.
The oak grip features an eight-strand wire wrap of steel and brass, including spiralling ribbons of brass, and brass finials to the top and bottom.
The pommel is a flattened sphere of brass, carved to the top with the phrase "Ars longa, vita brevis", and finished with a faceted steel nut.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Magnificent Beast ∴
You inhale sharply as your scarred fingers tug at the laces of the doublet. A gentleman looks back from the mirror, angular and athletic, a twinkle in his eye and a fine cloth about his neck. Pleased, you tie the laces off and reach for the long leather belt, buckling it tightly about your waist.
“Do you have to go?” a sleepy voice asks from the tangled bed.
“Have to?” you ask. “Darling, I want to. I’ve been dreaming of this duel for months.”
“One of these days you’ll get yourself killed,” the voice replies, with an air of mock sullenness to disguise real worry.
“Nonsense,” you reply lightly. “I was made for this.”
You take the rapier down from the wall, running your thumb over the sharp, shrieking faces of gryphons that adorn its guard. Part lion, part eagle. The king of beasts and of the skies. The heraldic beast of your family, symbol of courage and vigilance.
“I dreamed of a gryphon last night,” you muse, turning the black-and-brass cup in your hands. “Golden feathers gleaming in the sun. Its heavy paws and shredding talons. A roar that became a shrill screech as it took to the air. The beating of mighty wings that consumed all my senses and forced me to my knees as it rose above me.”
“An omen,” your bedfellow muses, and you know without looking that a small, amused smile is playing at her lips.
“Yes, that all will kneel before the gryphon’s might,” you laugh, posturing with the rapier in a semblance of a lunge.
“Or that you’re becoming a slave to your reputation,” she replies wryly. “Forced to kneel before your own heraldic beast? It makes me wonder who’s in control. You, or your legend?”
“Well if I must pay fealty to a legend, I shall do so gladly,” you quip, slipping the sword into the scabbard at your waist. “After all, how else does one become a legend in turn?”
You spin on your heel to see your sweetheart standing before you in her embroidered robe, messy-haired and tired-eyed.
“Go with my blessing then, you would-be King of Beasts and Air,” she pronounces, holding out her hand with affected pomposity. “Just promise you won’t die out there.”
You take the proffered hand and plant a kiss on her knuckles, before turning to the door.
“No promises, darling,” you say with a wink. “After all, life is short,”
“And art is long,” she finishes with a sigh.
