The Linnorm Longsword

May 11
3 min read

Updated: May 13

This mighty longsword is inspired by the Wallace Collection A493, and features a remarkably long, broad blade. This is kept wieldy in the hands by a mostly-solid pommel, which pulls the rotation back, allowing the blade to move in a versatile fashion. Multiple fullers keep the long blade stiff in the forte but flexible further down, making for a light tip and a presence that will dominate any bind or parry.

The name refers to a folktale from the wielder's childhood, which tells of a boy who goes fishing on a Sunday despite his mother's wishes. On his way home, he throws the last of his bait, a single unused worm, into the well, so his mother won't find out he's been fishing. Many years later, the grown boy returns from war to find that the worm in the well has turned into a linnorm!

These creatures are common in German and Norse myth and folklore, taking the form of limbless serpents, which often grow at an alarming rate. The story reminded the wielder of the hellbender salamanders native to the East USA, and the hand-carvings on the quillons bear the likeness of one such giant amphibian!

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

∴ Specs ∴

Total length: 112cm
Blade length: 143.5cm from cross
Blade width at widest: 4cm
Grip length: 24cm
Grip and pommel: 31cm
Quillon span: 29cm
Grip to guard space: 6.5cm
Weight: 1980g
Point of Balance: 16cm from cross
Ambidextrous
Blunt edges & rounded tip
Fencing safe flex

∴ Notes ∴

The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are antiqued to a matte grey finish with selective polishing to bring out hand-carved features.

The crossguard is formed of straight flat-section quillons, which swell to the terminals and are carved into the likeness of a salamander. A small protective ring protrudes from the cross, with a dragon wing carved into it.

The pommel is a simple mushroom shape, atop an oak grip wrapped in linen thread and dark brown kidskin.

The broad blade features two decorative fullers on either side of the ricasso, followed by a deep central fuller that starts under the ricasso and extends halfway down the blade.

∴ Gallery ∴

∴ A Draconic Lie ∴

There are certain promises one makes in life. Some of these are sworn at the altar. Others are sworn on the sword. Still others are whispered on the whim of a moment. But promises are jealous things: they have a habit of seeking each other out, causing contradictions, and leaving each other broken.

So it was with the wyrm.

My first promise was to my mother. I couldn't have been more than seven, and I loved my mother almost as much as I loved catching salamanders by the creek. So when she made me promise not to go down to the dark and muddy banks one Sunday, I crossed my fingers behind my back and told her that I wouldn't.

I knew I could get away with it. I had it all worked out: an alibi at a friend's house, a clean pair of shoes in my satchel, and a handy detour to the well to hide my amphibian quarry. As it was, I only caught one that day: a tiddler, barely three inches long, brown and orange speckles on its slimy, crested back.

My second promise was to God. I was older then. Old enough to know better. But the glory of war and the oaths we spoke on the eve of battle were louder than common sense.

And so I knelt before the shrine, my sword held before me, its tip touching the ground, and I swore an oath of honesty.

And from that day I spoke only the truth, as far as I can tell. But the promise squirmed aabout inside me like a jealous wyrm, digging into the dark silt of my memories, and looking for untruths to taunt me with. Turning a moment's broken promise into a monstrous untruth.

And so it was that on my return home from war, I was met by my father, his eyes grim and his jaw set, a bloodied bandage around his arm and a pitchfork in his hand.

"Bring that sword of yours, boy," he grumbled without preface. "There's a dragon in the well."