This longsword is unmistakably a weapon of war, with a broad blade and heavier handling. The blade's 8mm stock and wider tip lend themselves to a versatile central balance, while the thick-waisted grip offers purchase for larger hands or protective gloves.
The design is simple yet stately, with three decorative fullers highlighting the blade's breadth, and flaring downturned quillons offering hand protection and options in the bind. The sword is named for its classic wheel pommel, calling to mind Fortune's fickle wheel (rota fortunae) and the Latin for strength (fortis).
A gleaming mokumegame peening block lends an almost hidden hint of nobility to this robust warrior's sword.
Please see our pricing guidelines for an idea of what a similar sword might cost.
∴ Specs ∴
Weight: 1760g
Total length: 116.5cm
Blade length: 90cm
Blade width: 5.2cm
Blade stock: 8mm
Grip length: 19.5cm
Grip and pommel length: 26cm
Quillon span: 26cm
Point of Balance: 8cm
Ambidextrous
2mm edges
Fencing flex
Swollen tip
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated curved cross and wheel pommel are blackened to a matte finish. As a special touch, the construction is finished with a copper and brass mokumegame peening block.
The thick, waisted oak grip is wrapped first in linen thread and then in deep brown leather, with cord risers to the top, bottom and waist. The blade features a central fuller and two, shorter, decorative fullers to the forte.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Rough Gem ∴
The smoke of hastily-doused fire strings your eyes as you stumble between tents, fumbling with the straps of your scabbard. All is chaos in the half-light: shouting, pushing, horses whinnying in protest as their riders rouse them from sleep. So this is it. This is how battle begins.
Pushing through the confusion you find the haphazard muster, loose lines forming in front of a knight you haven't seen before. He is clad roughly but readily in heavy brown leather and weathered maille, a lone black lion on his stained surcoat, and a pointed helm upon his head. You cannot hear what he is saying above the rush of the crowd, but everything about his stature and his manner speaks of control.
You try to focus on that fact. The fact that someone here knows what he's doing. That you will not be led blindly into battle. You note the man's sword, strapped to his side with a knotted belt. It is as broad and battle-ready as the man himself, marked by war yet clearly cared for. Yes, you think. There is a blade you could follow into the fray.
Your eyes follow the black curve of the guard, and fix on the dark wheel of the pommel. Fortune's wheel, you think suddenly. Now more than ever you are dizzied by its spinning - by the unknowable outcome of this fate that has found you. And yet, as the commander turns on his heel to survey the field, you notice something else: barely a glimmer of gold at the wheel's crest, the only mark of grandeur about the stoic, maille-clad man.
You barely have time to wonder who he is before he draws that strange sword with a mighty cry, and the charge begins.