Strong lines and subtle embellishments lift this 15th Century-style longsword to the next level, crowned by a regal fishtail pommel. The latter lends itself to a number of grip styles, and assists in lining up strong cuts. The sword was built with our client's study of Fiore in mind, yet its handling is versatile enough for all manner of scholarship.
The blade has enough presence that it doesn't feel whip-like, yet is light enough to be nimble in the hands. The waisted grip is modelled on historical examples found paired with fishtail pommels, and follows the pommels lines and flare, with faceting allowing positive engagement with the blade orientation. Practical yet aesthetically led, its believable historical look and feel are sure to shine in the salle.
Its name is a stylised portmanteau of the Latin "piscar" and "cauda", meaning "fish tail" in reference to the splendid pommel.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 1450g
Total length: 125cm
Blade length: 96.5cm
Blade width at shoulder: 4.5cm
Grip length: 19cm
Grip and pommel length: 27cm
Quillon span: 24.5cm
Point of Balance: 9cm
2mm edges
Swollen tip
Fencing flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel and polished to a satin finish. The quillon terminals are domed, while the Type U fishtail pommel features a carved groove. This groove is picked up by the oak grip, the quillon block at the cross, and the ridge of the blade itself.
The grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then in dark green leather. The pommel is finished with a square brass peening block.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ An Unexpected Depth∴
With a flick of your wrist you release the smooth, flat stone - just the way your father taught you - and stare after its skittering trail. One skip, two skips, three and it's gone, lost beneath the glassy surface.
You like to come here to think. That's all it is. You like the way the late sun hits the water from below glowering clouds, lighting up the landscape with an eerie algae green. You like the little waves lapping against shards of slate, and the wind whipping at the collar of your raincoat.
Of course you know the legend. The lake, the lady, the legion awaiting one who would lead them. But you're beyond bedtime stories now. You leave such things to your brother and sister, still playing with sticks in the garden. You have enough to worry about with school and friends and stinging rejection, without filling your head with their nonsense.
As you crouch to gather another skipping stone, something catches your eye. Something long and straight and semi-submerged in the shallows. A cross, it looks like: dark in the half-lit waters, tapering to one end and swelling toward the other into something like a fish's silver tail.
Your pulse is already pounding. In your heart you already know what it is. With a shout of unrestrained glee you rush into the water toward it, ankle deep with no regard for your boots. There's a kingdom to be claimed.