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Dark Rocks

The Hessian Longsword



We crafted this interpretation of the Headless Horseman's sword from gothic horror favourite Sleepy Hollow. It is built around a tightly waving flamberge blade, which brings to mind a sinuous serpent while adding an element of control in the bind. 


The serpent theme continues in the ornamental pommel, carved into a snake's head complete with open mouth, fangs and even a brass tongue!


While our rendition borrows heavily from the shapes and concepts of the original movie prop, it has been adapted for fencing practice with a more comfortable pommel shape and rounded edges to the formidable guard.


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



 

∴ Specs ∴


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  • Total length: 126cm

  • Blade length: 94.5cm

  • Blade width: 4.5cm at base

  • Blade stock: 6mm

  • Grip length: 24cm

  • Grip and pommel: 29.5cm

  • Quillon span: 25cm

  • Point of Balance: 5cm

  • Weight: 1460g

  • Ambidextrous

  • Blunt edges

  • Rounded tip

  • Fencing flex






 

∴ Notes ∴


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The hand-forged and heat-treated cup guard and pommel are blackened to a matte finish. The guard features downturned quillons with a pronounced ecusson and talon-like detailing. The pommel is a stand-out feature, shaped like a serpent's head with hand-carved detailing including eyes, open mouth, fangs, tongue and scale patterns.


The blade features a flamboyant shape, with carved curves about a central ridge, reminiscent of a dancing flame or writhing snake.


The oak grip is wrapped first in linen twine, then in black leather, tooled with snakeskin-like diamond patterns. It was presented in a black leather scabbard with matching snakeskin patterning.


 

∴ Gallery ∴



 

∴ A Listless Repose ∴



The trees whisper with raindrops, deluging the dark earth: that rich, reeking blackness that floods your senses as if you were already buried in it.


Water collects in the hem of your hood and trickles cold into your eyes. You stop for a second to rub at them, then hurry on. You do not know these woods well enough to travel them by night, but you have a feeling you will find your destination one way or another.

The clearing is still when you come to it. Even the raindrops, by now almost a comfort, seem muffled and muted. The tree is there at the centre, just as you dreamed it, like a body contorted in agony atop a mass of twisted roots.


And there, as you expected in your gut, is the sword. Its sinuous, writhing blade is half-plunged into the black soil, and from a distance it could be a simple grave marker, shaped like a cross. But you know better.


You know the leathern scales of the sword's black grip, the talons that tease at its crossguard. You know the open maw of the serpent pommel, all fangs and brazen tongue. You know how it feels as it slices the air, unerringly meeting its mark.

As your palm brushes against the serpent's head, a new sound fills the forest: a distant drumbeat, not of raindrops, but hooves.

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