Created for a customer as part of the thematically linked Discordian Suite, the Entropia sidesword combines a martial feel with fantasy-inspired detailing. Entropia is a heavier sidesword, in the style of the Wallace Collection's A535 and similar "military" weapons. The parallel blade pulls the point of balance forward, lending itself to a cutting feel. The blade is fairly stiff, allowing more feedback when performing actions on the opposing blade. Combined, these aspects lead to a "bladey" sword, tempered with a shorter grip. The latter allows for leveraging of the pommel with the little finger, increasing manoeuvrability. The ambidextrous closed-port hilt is smaller internally than similar "HEMA" sideswords, allowing more dexterity in handling with leather gloves. Combined, the protective hilt and technical blade make for a weightier sword - but the balance and grip characteristics allow it to shine in controlled sparring and drilling. Please see our pricing structure for an idea of what a similar sword would cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 1490g
Total length: 110cm
Blade length: 38"
Grip and pommel length: 11cm
Quillon span: 27cm
Point of Balance: 12.5cm
2mm edges
Fencing flex and
Swollen tip
∴ Notes ∴
The carved and engraved furniture is made of hardened, oil blackened steel, featuring chaos star insignia on the closed port, quillon finials and pommel. The hardwood grip is wrapped in twisted brass and steel wire.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Lingering Void ∴
You cannot remember finding the sword, nor lifting it from its dark stone pedestal. You only know that you craved it, and it was in your hand. Turning the blackened hilt in the half-light, you examine its strange engravings, caress the curve of the pommel, feel the weight of the blade.
So engrossed are you in your appraisal that at first you barely notice the sick sensation coursing through your veins - something alien, probing, tentative yet dauntless. A feeling that the sword is somehow trying you for size.
And there is laughter. Impossible laughter, pulsing through the chamber, rattling between ribs and up through your throat. You grasp your wrist with your left hand, digging nails into flesh, willing your fingers to quit the wire-wrapped grip.
The air clears. The sword falls to the ground with a clatter. You realise with a flood of relief and disappointment that the thing will linger on here, awaiting one far greater than you.
Far greater, and far more terrible.