Sister to our original Blaggard Dagger, this brawling beauty features a broad 17" blade and a sail-style basket hilt of decorative barwork. With comprehensive and ambidextrous hand coverage, she could be used as a main-gauche dagger or for a solo fighting dagger in the primary hand.
Named for the sweetheart shape formed by its black barwork, this alehouse dagger has an alluring beauty which belies the punch it could pack in the alehouse or on the piste!
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 820g
Ambidextrous
Total length: 58cm
Blade length: 43cm
Blade width at shoulder: 3.5cm
Grip length: 12cm
Grip and pommel length: 15cm
Quillon span: 26cm
Point of Balance: at the cross
2mm edges
Swollen tip
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated barwork guard is blackened to a matte finish, and features a design of swirling bars meeting in a heart-shaped design.
The quillons curl steeply downward, and the port is filled a pierced with a pattern of circles and stars.
The oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread, and then in dark brown leather. The dagger is finished with a small crushed sphere pommel, and a steel hex nut.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Dalliance with the Dark∴
You don't know why you keep coming here - though the Lord knows it's not for the food. You glance down at the greying globules, more fat than meat, suspended in a dishwater broth, and grimace. No, it's certainly not the food. Nor the warm, flat ale, nor the sticky floorboards, nor the company of bandits and thieves.
It is - if you are honest - a woman. The Woman, as you've come to think of her, for you do not know her name. And not even her, but merely the hope of her. Hope that the heavy door will fly open as it did that first night, admitting a figure swathed in black skirts, black curls spilling from a black wool hood, red lips carving a cruel smile across a swarthy face. You recall how she stalked, catlike across the room, undaunted by the sudden silence or the brigands' eyes boring into her. How amidst the rustle of skirts cold steel flashed: a dagger, dark and lovely, the great curling bars of its basket kissing in the semblance of a heart.
"Danger," the dagger whispered.
You don't know what she said to the brute in the back-most booth, or what he hissed in reply, but you saw his great ham of a hand sweep outward to grasp her wrist and, faster, her own hand slip into that black sweetheart basket and bring it up, hard and blunt, against the blaggard's face. As he slumped to the bench with a groan she turned to take in the room, the dagger's blade extended, issuing a silent dare.
And just like that she was gone, a flurry of skirts and steel, leaving the dank hall in disarming quiet - and you well and truly stricken.