The pocked oak door closes behind you with a muffled thud, soft, as if the building itself is chastened into reverent hush. A familiar scent fills the empty space: yellowed pages, paraffin candles, long-extinguished incense, dust. You wonder if every church in the world bears this same palimpsest of perfume.
This one is small and unassuming, whitewashed walls and dark wooden beams. But for the tomb, unremarkable. But the tomb, almost obscured between unadorned pillars, sets your heart pounding. You’ve seen so many these past years. A hundred unsmiling effigies hastening you on, across the continent and back again, closer to home than you could ever have dared dream. Yet somehow you know – this is the one.
Your steps sound out, sharp and surreal as you approach the recumbent knight. Framed by a mail coif, his face could be kindly, you think. Your eyes dart to his hands, clasped – in prayer or in vigilance? – over a stone sword.
A broad finger ring emerges from the serpentine crossguard, reaching down to kiss the fullered blade. The full moon disc of the pommel is flat and wide. It is simple, yet unmistakable.
Reaching to your side, you draw the stone sword’s twin. You fancy you can hear it gleam between dust motes in the still, sacred air. As you lay the weapon down beside its sculpted image, you murmur the name carved in seraphs below the worn stone figure.
Your quest has reached its end.
Our articulated steel gorgets start from £120 plus shipping. Made from steel plate and lined with felt and thick leather, these pieces allow for premium protection and individual flair.
Made to be as light and low profile as armour will allow, these stylish pieces can be worn comfortably over or under a jacket collar, giving optimal protection while allowing for a full range of movement.
As each steel gorget is made to order, you’ll be able to choose leather colour, metal finish, and a simple engraving of your choice.
~ Rebecca Lucky
Contact us to discuss your custom protective gear requirements.
The full moon reaches between bare branches to illuminate the pine-strewn path beneath your feet. Your footfall is only almost muffled by the carpet of fallen needles.
Somewhere behind you a branch breaks. The sound is cacophonous in the still night air. Adrenaline surges through you, and one hand flies to the sword at your hip.
The other flutters impulsively to your throat, pressing two trembling fingers to the smooth, brass-studded collar that protects it.
You inhale. You exhale. You run.
Our articulated Lycan gorget is made from layers of rugged 3mm thick Kydex plastic over 4mm thick leather, protecting your throat from thrusts, cuts and the bites of magical creatures.
Designed to be worn comfortably over or under a fencing jacket, the Lycan is super lightweight and low-profile while covering the all-important throat area. Its articulated construction allows for a full range of unimpeded head movement, while the rolled blade catcher keeps you safe from any slips.
Light enough to slip on for practice yet sturdy enough to protect you during sparring, the stylish Lycan exemplifies grace under pressure.
Contact us to make the Lycan yours for £60 plus shipping.
Rosy evening rays blush over golden stone and softly lapping waters. A lull settles over the harbour as fishermen and dock workers pause wordlessly to watch the sun perform its swansong. You drink in the salt-tinged air and feel a smile spreading across your face.
You’ve passed this same bustling port every night on your walk home, sometimes idling for hours at the water’s edge, watching the world come and go. Now it’s your turn.
The pack on your back contains a spare shirt, some cured meat, and a crumpled letter of recommendation. At your side is your sole and most sacred possession – your father’s sword. Seductive as the sea itself, its rolling curves and seashell carvings have long fed your dreams of escape. As a child you would beg to hold it, and imagine yourself at the prow of a ship, ready to face down the wind.
You always told your father you’d cross the sea one day. If only he could see you now.
You thought nothing could be darker than the benighted vista before you – an infinity of ink-black sea and sky, unbounded by horizon, unpierced by stars. Then you saw the ship.
Its darkness is a corporeal kin to that of the sea, drifting silent over unseen eddies. At first it is only the slightest disturbance, a hint-of lack-of nothing. Then, as your eyes strain to focus, motion takes on form: black sails, a dark wooden hull, ropes silhouetted black-on-black.
You cannot say how long you stand, knee-deep in cold water, awaiting the craft’s approach. It strikes you as unusual that such a large vessel could come so close to shore without running aground, but you push the strangeness from your mind as lantern light flares against the deck.
There, in a muted amber aura, stands the strangest sailor you’ve ever seen. Fully armed in blackened steel, a helmet obscuring his face, he calls to you – though his words are lost on the wind. Somehow, despite the darkness, you know he sees you. He calls to you. Pinpricks brush your neck.
The sailor cries out again and, reaching to his belt, draws a weapon. The steel blade flashes, a momentary beacon against the night. The sailor holds it out – not as a threat, you realise, but… an offering? A blackened web of bars gives way to a broad, curved blade. Is it familiar, or is that just fancy upon fancy?
Without quite knowing why, you wade, entranced and weaponless, toward the waiting ship. Read More
A chorus of birdsong heralds your arrival, footsteps certain over darkened, dew-strewn grass. A familiar surge takes hold of you. Once again in the half-light, while the city sleeps behind you, you come to meet your fate.
It’s said that all men have their vices, and this is yours: dawn light, dishonour, duel to first blood. An anonymous challenger, curious to test his skill against your unblemished record.
A light gleams from the riverbank, and your heart lurches like a hound that’s caught a scent. There, beneath the willow – two figures. Your opponent, and a second. One steps forward, silhouetted by the lantern clasped behind his back. Eager to assess an advantage, you size him up: slight of stature and perfectly poised in pale breeches. Something about the swordsman’s stance irks you as you approach. Something familiar you fail to put your finger on.
It’s the sword you recognise first, though for a moment your mind refuses to place it. Dark and slender, a scattering of stars across blackened plates. How could you forget such a gift, when you were once the one to give it?
Heart in your mouth, you draw your eyes upward to take in your opponent’s face: pale and heart-shaped, a dark curl slipping from its nest of pins, blue eyes laughing in the lantern light.
“Estella,” you whisper.
“Shall we?” she replies.
Mounted high above the mantle, the greatsword is an imposing thing. Your fellow confedorates can hardly keep their eyes from it, though whether they’re assured by its promised protection or cowed by insinuated force, you cannot guess.
The sword is a contradiction in itself, its delicately carved hilt offset by the brute length of its blade. As much as it suits the ceremonial surrounds , you’ve no doubt it was forged for battle.
A symbol of severance by its very nature, you think it strange that such a thing should preside over this moment. Yet as you lift the quill to add your name to the charter, you cannot help but be glad of it.
Just as a knight kneels to swear his oath and rises at the touch of a sword, so you make your alliegence known.