This impressive basket-hilted turacel was made as a replacement for a sword that Chris had the pleasure of reblading early in his career. Our client requested a close copy in terms of feel, but left Chris creative license when it came to aesthetics.
In order to recreate the feel of the original sword, Chris focused on making an extremely lightweight blade, with a long sabre-style fuller along the spine taking out some of the mass. This allowed for a significantly back-balanced sword that allows for very fast cuts and feints.
The result is a fast and handsome sword, ideal for quick, close movements that avoid the bind. The hardened steel hilt takes its inspiration from an amalgam of swords seen in the Culloden museum, and features traditionally-forged split bar twists and hand-carved thistle details.
The sword's predecessor was named Whisper for its swift, subtle but decisive action. As a spiritual sister, we thought Echo was the perfect name for this sword, serving as a reminder of its inspiration while rippling out into new realms of learning and fencing.
Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar custom sword would cost and contact us with your enquiry.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 93cm
Blade length: 76.5cm
Blade width at shoulder: 3.2cm
Blade stock: 6mm
Quillon span: 14cm
Grip length: 12.5cm
Grip and pommel: 15.5cm
Point of balance: 4cm
Weight: 1129g
Ambidextrous
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated basket hilt and pommel are blackened to a matte finish. The basket features traditional saltires, looping "ears", and hand-carved thistle details. The elongated hemisphere pommel is finished with a faceted peening block.
The oak grip is wrapped in black kidskin. The curved, single-edge blade features two fullers to the spine.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Striking Resonance∴
This is what you are made for. The sword moves as an extension of yourself, light and effortless, curved blade dancing through the air to meet its mark. All thought but the thrill of the fight leaves as your opponent lifts his hilt to parry…
… and then comes flooding back again.
It’s that sound. The high, wavering timbre of steel against steel, like an echo through time. In a fevered rush memory curls its fist around your core and pulls you back to another place. Another sword.
To a bleak and bracken-strewn moor, trampled by charging boots. The bone-shaking growl of cannon fire and the thunder of cavalry. And above it all, the high angelic ring of steel against steel. Two blades meeting across an enemy line.
You should have known then that you had already passed the point of no return. That you were too much a part of it. That those wild, desperate eyes behind the crossed blades would haunt your for the rest of your days regardless of whether you stayed or fled. But you were young, and flee you did.
That was another time, you tell yourself, pulling back from the rippling maelstrom of your memory. Another place, and another sword. The one in your hand is moving almost automatically, slipping from the bind and sweeping round into an unavoidable undercut.
You step forward and bring the blackened hilt up into your opponent’s jaw. For an absurd moment time slows, and you take in the thistles carved into the underside of the basket.
No, you have not forgotten.
Time rights itself as the enemy soldier sinks to the ground with a groan. This is what you were made for, and this time you’ll see it through.