This mythic-looking maritime sidesword was made for a friend from our local fencing group, which gave Chris the advantage of familiarity with the client's fencing style. Having studied rapier and broadsword, the client wanted a sidesword that would compliment those forms and challenge him to new heights.
Chris answered this call with a sword that rotates quickly around the central point, allowing for close plays, yet maintaining enough presence in the blade to bind against opposing swords and easily push them offline. The resulting sword falls into a comfortable middle space between cutting and thrusting, making it truly versatile and a pleasure to fence with.
The distinctive hilt decoration reflects the client's passion for marine biology, and calls on a combination of hot forging chisel and burin work to capture the textures and flow of seaweed while keeping the hilt as a whole light and wieldy. The bubbles are hot punched out from the back of each bar to reduce the amount of metal needed to create the effect.
The sword's name is taken from this seaweed effect, referring to one of the many common names of bladderwrack or fucus vesiculosus.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 107.5cm
Blade length: 94cm
Blade width at base: 2.7cm
Blade stock: 6mm
Grip length: 8.5cm
Grip and pommel: 12cm
Grip to guard: 5cm
Quillon span: 25cm
Weight: 1200g
Point of Balance: 14cm
Right-handed
Blunt edges
Rounded tip
Fencing safe flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are treated to an antique finish with selective polishing to highlight the seaweed and barnacle effects. The guard is formed of ribbon-section bars, hot forged and punched to resemble bladderwrack seaweed. The quillons are horizontally S-shaped, with a knuckleguard, side ring and two protective diagonal bars flowing from them. The port features a seashell plate for added finger protection, and the quillon and knucklebow terminals are split into organic forks.
The oak grip is finished with a brass and steel wire wrap, containing irregular hand-forged ribbon and raised chainwork to continue the organic feel of the hilt. The spherical pommel features hand-carved barnacle encrustations, furthering the sense of a relic washed up from a shipwreck.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Sinking Feeling ∴
Your breath is a steady hiss in your ears as you ease your body over broken wood and twisted steel. The inverted hull of the Star is a cathedral of coral and shadow, half submerged in the silty seabed. Its sole explorer, you breathe with meditative calm, noting your steady pulse, nudging natural fear away from your consciousness.
Shoals of small fish catch your eye as they dart between dark forms, catching the muted light like flakes of glitter. Were it not for their flurry of motion, you would never have seen it, wedged in the ribbed remains of the prow. At first you think yourself mistaken, urge your heartbeat back to rest. But a closer examination proves your instinct correct: the pommel of a sword, swollen with barnacles, like a clenched fist sealed in time.
A single sharp tug sends the wood around it splintering away. You grimace at the damage, then return your focus to the sword. Tarnished and knotted with verdigris, it is hard to make the shapes out at first. Then the features swim into focus: the brass and steel wire of the grip resembles a length of tangled chain, and the guard spirals out in organic tendrils, like the bladderwrack that waves around it.
For a moment you swear you can feel it waver in your hand, soft and organic, caught by a barely perceptible current. A surge of something between wonder and revulsion comes over you as your gloved hand closes over the grip, and the guard becomes steel once more.
At once the water seems to darken, your vision dimming. Shapes move in the shadows, sleek and too fast to be fish. Your eyes flick to your oxygen gauge, and your stomach jolts as you find it nearing empty. You kick against the sodden planks, propelling yourself up toward the waiting light. But the weight of the sword pulls you back.
You stare at the swirling rock-wrack guard encircling your hand like a gauntlet, like a shackle. You should leave the sword here and swim for safety. You can always come back for it tomorrow, after a rest. Again you glance anxiously at the fractured sunlight that marks the surface. There is a world up there: one of light, and warmth, and familiar faces. It is yours to return to.
All you have to do is let go.