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Dark Rocks

The Punishment Sabre

This East-meets-West sabre design is taken straight from the pages of our client's fantasy novels, and brought to life as an artefact of his written world.

Its design loosely combines the lines and blade style of a Patton sabre with the hilt and guard of a Mongolian dao. Taking aesthetic inspiration from both traditions, the result is an imposing weapon, severe in its elegance.

We worked closely with our client to create a weapon befitting his hero, following his original sketches and suggesting alterations to create a work of evocative art which is also a viable fencing tool.

Many thanks to A.M Steiner for his sketches and permission to use his original story concept.

Screenshot 2022-02-17 at 18.07.47

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


∴ Specs ∴

  • Total length: 114cm

  • Blade length: 90cm

  • Blade width: 3.5cm at base

  • Blade stock: 6mm

  • Grip length: 21cm

  • Grip and pommel: 25cm

  • Guard span: 11cm

  • Point of Balance: 14.5cm

  • Weight: 995g

  • Ambidextrous

  • Blunt edges

  • Rounded tip


∴ Notes ∴


The hand-forged and heat-treated tsuba-style guard is polished to a satin sheen, featuring a hand-pierced and filed radiant eye motif.

The pommel cap is also made from polished steel, and features a brass plate to the base with a hand-chiselled scales motif in relief.

The oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread, then in black kidskin. The construction is completed with a mekugi-style pin through the grip and tang. The blade features a deep, broad fuller to two-thirds of its length.


∴ Gallery ∴


∴ A Just Reward ∴


For all its outer grandeur, the lodge is no sanctum of order. As you follow the Chief Constable inside, your eyes dart from detail to dust-rimed detail. The harlequin glass-inlaid walls, the heavy leather-bound tomes sagging in their spines, uncatalogued heaps of weapons and armour in various states of repair.

The lodge is not a space, you think, as much as a lifetime. A chronicle of the Chief Constable’s whims and works. And for what? The Brotherhood has been disbanded. Its unending work curtailed.

It is here that the sword has been waiting: not in a state of grace, but of chaos. A symbol of duty discarded. Fitting, you think, considering your own circumstances. Like the sword, you have become something of an archaism. Like you, its purpose is suddenly uncertain.

Yet as the Chief pulls back the age-marked cloth, your own tired eyes meet the Eye carved into the severe triangular guard, and you feel a steely stab of recognition.

The politicians may have ended the Brotherhood. But Justice? Mercy? Such things cannot be dissolved so easily.


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