This Type XII arming sword is a replica of one found in the Elbe at Hitzacker, which was closely documented by Roland Warzecha of Dimicator. Thanks to Roland's meticulous diagrams and specs, we were able to create an authentic-feeling yet sparring-safe copy of the sword, including the subtly flared quillons and the tapering chamfered pommel. The adjustments that we made to the original specs were shortening the grip length for our client's hands and preferred style, and tightening the slot in the crossguard - where the original had an oversized slot for the tang to pass through (a hallmark of mass production) we had the luxury of creating a close fit for added longevity. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 1260g
Total length: 102cm
Blade length: 33.5"
Blade width at base: 5.6cm
Ricasso length: 16.5cm
Grip length: 10cm
Grip and pommel length: 15.5cm
Quillon span: 18cm
Point of Balance: 11cm
Rounded tip
2mm edges
Fencing flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hardwood grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then in dark oxblood-coloured leather. The disc pommel and crossguard are polished to a satin finish. The blade features a single broad fuller and a historical rosette engraved at the point of balance.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Treasure Relinquished ∴
The Elbe is calm, broad and still, its green-grey surface broken only by the leaping of a lone fish - just as you remember from the long summer evenings of childhood. Your head is a tumult of spinning swords and eddying questions from which you can’t push free - but the Elbe is calm.
It will do you good, you think, to spend a little time away from the crowds, here in the quiet market town where you grew up, watching your father fish from the banks and hiding behind your mother’s skirts as she called her wares in the market. Perhaps here you can remember who you were before the war, before the battle, before the waters ran muddy-red.
You draw your sword from its sheath and smile. It is a sad smile, full of fond remembrance. This broad, tapering blade was the one companion you truly relied on throughout it all. The pommel is worn smooth where it pressed into your palm, the crossguard scarred from strikes that did not find their mark. It is a good sword - a great one, even - but it is not the sword of a titleless trader in a quiet market town.
With a hand as unsteady as the river is still, you raise the sword over the glassy depths and release its blood-red grip for the last time. The sword hits the water with a cacophonous splash, and then is gone. The Elbe is calm once more.