This nimble longsword has a big attitude and a lot of blade presence. The blade is unusually wide - giving more cover to the fingers in guard - and broad in taper, which increases rotational mass. The handling was fine-tuned to simulate the feel of a 15th Century warsword, without adding too much weight.
The slight downturn of the quillons offers more options in the bind, while the slight faceting of the spherical pommel assists with hand position. The waisted grip is modelled on historical examples, and comfortable in a variety of grip styles.
Named for the extinct species of strong, bison-like cattle, this sword shouts strength, yet moves with grace.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 1640g
Stock: 8mm thick at guard
Total length: 122.5cm
Blade length: 96cm
Blade width at shoulder: 5cm
Grip length: 20cm
Grip and pommel length: 24.5cm
Quillon span: 26cm
Point of Balance: 8.5cm
2mm edges
Swollen tip
Fencing flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated guard and pommel are oil blackened to a matte finish.
The quillons are rectangular in section with a slight downturn, while the faceted spherical pommel is finished with a square brass peening block.
The waisted grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then in oxblood leather.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Pillar of Strength∴
The first thing you noticed about him was strength. It was the first thing anyone noticed: the ox-like bulk of his shoulders, the proud protrusion of his chest. The great plate-sized hands curling around the blood red grip of his broad-bladed longsword. This was not a man to challenge, his shape suggested. This was a man to respect.
And yet, over the course of those long laborious marches, those silent campfire suppers, those bitter battle scenes, you saw a still-deeper strength. A stalwart force of will, as quiet as it was disquieting. Strength enough to pull his ragtag band of mercenaries back from the brink of defeat, and to hear out their harrowing tales in the aftermath. His men would follow him anywhere, that much was clear. And though he had never demanded their loyalty, everything about him commanded it.
The Auroch, they called him, staunch and sturdy. He had been their strength when they had none. And the sword - the ruddy great sword with its round black pommel and red, ribbed leather - had become a symbol of that strength. And now it is yours.
Your hands look strange, too small and pale, against the blood-hued handle. How can you ever hope to wield it with the assurance the Auroch once did? How can you stay strong without his unflinching hand on your shoulder? With a heavy heart, you raise your fallen friend's relic, and turn to address your men.