When a customer asked for a sword inspired by the legendary soldier, fencing master and prizefighter Donald McBane, we knew a walloon sword was on the cards. This type of hilt has been paired with both heavy broadsword-style blades and thinner spadroon-style blades. For this particular rendition we struck a middle ground, the result being nimble in the hand while visually recalling broader blade types. Likewise, the degree of guard was chosen to provide a good level of protection while offering a distinctly different feel to the basket-hilted broadswords our customer usually fences with. The hilt is a modicum larger than some historical counterparts, allowing for use with a lightly padded glove. In many respects this sword was designed as a jack of all trades, able to contend with both broadsword and smallsword fencers, thus ideally suiting the legacy of McBane's writings. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 1050g
Total length: 104cm
Blade length: 35"
Grip length: 10.5cm
Grip and pommel length: 14.4cm
Quillon span: 15.5cm
Point of Balance: 7.5cm
Sparring-safe edges
Fencing flex
Swollen tip
∴ Notes ∴
The hardened hilt features a thumb ring and dished piercework of hearts and circles, oil-blackened to a matte finish.
The hardwood grip is finished in a spun copper and steel wire wrap.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Minacious Meeting∴
Pulling your hood closer, you scowl into the driving rain and trudge on, cold water washing through your worn-out boots. You must still be 20 miles from Inverness, and the deluge shows no sign of slowing. Once again you wonder why you left - at least the bloody barracks had been dry.
Some miles down the road (you stopped counting days ago) you think you catch sight of a figure, barely a shadow through sheets of rain. Your heart leaps and your hand flies to your scabbard, but you steady yourself and peer deeper through the downpour. The shape is small and stooped with age. No threat to you.
As your breathing slows, you find yourself wondering how much coin the old man carries. Your stomach growls like something feral at the thought of a full meal. There's already a price on your head - and as your mother always said, may as well be hanged for a sheep.
"Halt if you value your life!" you call into the rain. To illustrate your point, you draw the dagger from your belt.
The old man doesn't stop. As he draws nearer, you make out a heavily scarred face, hair hanging damp and limp across a horrible grin. Without slowing his pace, he casts aside the skirt of his coat and, quick as lightning, draws a sword. The blade gleams bright against matte black steel, a scattering of hearts piercing the plate.
You have a feeling you just made a terrible mistake.