The Musalis Alehouse Dagger
- Feb 4
- 3 min read
Updated: Feb 5
This protective alehouse-style dagger was created as a reliable off-hand weapon for a repeat client. Its ambidextrous barwork sail provides ample space for a variety of grips, allowing the dagger to be used as both a parrying dagger and as a primary weapon.
Its classic alehouse-inspired shape has been customised for its wielder, including a fluted oak and steel-wire grip to match an existing sword, and a striking abstract barwork pattern in the form of a winged mouse, which has personal significance to our client.
The dagger is named for its main motif: "mus alis" is Latin for "winged mouse", paying tribute to the friendly little familiar picked out in the barwork.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 52cm
Blade length: 38cm from cross
Blade width at cross: 3.2cm
Grip length: 10cm
Grip and pommel: 14cm
Grip to guard: 5.5cm
Quillon span: 20.5cm
Weight: 596g
Point of Balance: at the cross
Ambidextrous
Blunt edges & rounded tip
Fencing safe flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are antiqued to a dark grey finish.
The guard consists of a ribbon-section barwork sail, taking the form of an abstract winged mouse. This sits above round-section quillons that flare to conical terminals, and a closed ring port, pierced with a pattern of dots.
The pommel is a small flattened sphere, finished with a faceted faux peening block. The oak grip is carved with fluting and finished with a steel wire wrap, featuring Turk's head knots to the top and bottom.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Familiar Call ∴
The stones of the city wall are slick with morning dew. Below, the first lanterns flicker to life as curtains draw back from windows. The city comes drowsily to life, unaware of how you are being pressed backwards over the slippery stones, toward open air and the crooked rooftops below.
Your opponent grins through his guard, his breath steady. The point of his rapier flicks over the sigil on your tabard, tearing at the ripe cloth. He is playing with you now.
“A mouse?” he chortles, “What petty house wears a vermin's colours? It suits you: you fight with all the courage of a mouse, and you will be crushed like a mouse."
The words sting, like the dawn wind tugging tears from the corners of your eyes. The sigil of the winged mouse, once stitched on banners and carved above chapel doors, has long been forgotten. The order it represents has long been disbanded. But you have not forgotten the oath you once swore: an oath to protect the small and unseen.
Your arm trembles. The low parapet is at your heel. You try not to think of the thin air behind you. Instead, you think of the smallfolk below, setting up market stalls in an alley where armed men once feared to tread, free from the fear of brutes like this one.
Something breaks the air: a sudden rush of wings. A drab grey pigeon startled from the stones. "Winged vermin," your mother used to call them, and the thought makes you grin. Perhaps the winged mouse is still watching you after all.
Your opponent flinches at the flurry of feathers. He takes one panicked step back, and that is enough. You draw the alehouse dagger in one smooth motion. The guard sits like a gauntlet around your curled fist, and the winged mouse outlined in its steel bars catches the rising sun before crashing into your opponent's face.
