#Castillon Arming Sword

[kultofathena]

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Castillon Arming Sword Review via sellsword.arts

[armthearmour]

An Arming Sword found near Castillon-la-Bataille,

OaL: 37.9 in/96.2 cm

Weight: 3.3 lbs/1489 g

England or France, ca. 1450, housed at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

[hbfmguy2]

Robert’s Defiance

Only one French soldier now remains to tramp the forest path, seeking hovels to plunder and maidens to ravage. But unknown to Robert de Castillon, captain of the guard at Nottingham Castle, his brave troop of men at arms are stripped of their weapons and armour, and left bound, gagged and blindfolded, tied to trees by the victorious Merry Maids. Lady Marion herself decides to bring this affair to a close by capturing de Castillon personally.

The young noblewoman suddenly drops from a branch to land, catlike, directly in front of the blundering drunk captain. However, Marion is not clad in the finery and flounces of court, but in a sleek Lincoln green knee length tunic, tight leggings, boots and a jaunty forester’s cap atop her mane of cascading dark hair. Arms akimbo, sword and dagger hanging from her belt the tall high born Englishwoman turned female outlaw makes an imposing sight. “Yield, Frenchman!” Marion demands. “You have something I need and you must pay the toll for traversing freeborn English land without permission.”

Robert is not cowed. He has heard that Robin of Locksley’s whore has recruited a ridiculous band of harridans and witches to continue his fight in Sherwood and he can hardly believe that the slut has presented herself to him, ripe for the taking. He draws his ancestral sword from its scabbard, a fine Norman blade that had seen service at Hastings where the English had been crushed. “Yield to woman, my lady?” de Castillon mocks. “Never!”

Marion smiles sweetly at the man as he limbers up for hand-to-hand combat. “Eh bien alors,” the lady says to him in French, while unsheathing her own blade. “allons-nous danser, monsieur?”

[sidhelives]

I'm sorry I ruined your party 👀

Hope everyone is ready for a new OC and some serious canon-divergent bullshit

Kirkwall was burning. Yellow-orange flames licked the sky, high and bright enough to reflect in the murky water surrounding the city until even the harbor appeared to be on fire. Over the creaking and crumbling of scorched timbers Hawke could hear screaming; haunting hollow sounds of anguish and fear that reminded him too much of Lothering. His jaw tensed, his guttural growl of anger lost in the cacophony of destruction, as his greatsword crashed through the guard of another Qunari warrior. The enemy's howl of pain cut through the tumult, before being sharply silenced by Hawke's savage thrust.

He was not going to lose another home.

Hawke surged up the steps towards the Viscount's Keep, vision tunneled by rage. Arrows and bolts shrieked by him, the deadly aim of his companions maiming and staggering enemies who lined the stair. The sharp coppery scent of blood preceded even sharper cracks of lightning that set his hair on end as they ricocheted between the Qunari. Frost rimed his blade as it shattered frozen invaders, ice exploding into razor-sharp shards that sliced hairline fissures into his skin. Before they could even bleed they were gone, the tingle of healing magic the only evidence that they had ever existed.

Hawke barely heard the thunderous pounding of sword against shield, hardly saw the flashes of lyrium blue and swathes of hot red it left in its wake. His focus was filled up by the adversary before him, then another, and another all leading to the immense doors, behind which lay the end of the madness that had overtaken Kirkwall.

The septet methodically cut down the guard, a wave of vengeance ripping violently through their ranks, until nothing but air stood between them from the Keep's entrance. Hawke did not take the time to enjoy the victory, the steel of his boot splintering the doors with a vicious kick that sent them crashing into the inside walls. The boom of wood against plaster reverberated through the empty marble hall, the fine imported Antivan carpets doing nothing to smother the echoes. Thick stone insulated the Keep's interior from the maelstrom of devastation beyond its walls and the tread of fourteen feet resembled the footfalls of an army in the eerie silence. Leading with a pace that invited no argument or discussion, Hawke took the stairs two at a time.

The Arishok would pay for the carnage he had brought down upon the city. No matter what the Qun may have demanded, Hawke required retribution.

Skittering, dashing footsteps careened into the Keep through the wide-flung doors. Seven sets of eyes snapped to the entrance, hands drawing bowstrings and beginning complicated gestures of spell weaving. It was only due to Hawke's halting arm thrown up as he recognized the figure which saved her from the attack.

"Isabela?" Hawke would recognize those legs anywhere. There were other, equally identifiable parts of her anatomy, of course, but they were hidden behind an enormous tome which the renegade clutched tightly to her chest.

"Hawke!" She skidded to a halt, relief washing over her features. "Andraste's tits, this is a shit show, isn't it?"

A smile cracked Hawke's stern set features. "What are you doing here?"

Isabela rolled her eyes. "I didn't come back for you if that's what you're asking."

Hawke tried to not look disappointed. "Then why?"

She sighed, climbing the stairs to join the others on the landing. "My hitherto unseen conscience reared its ugly head."

"Is that it?" Varric nodded toward the book she held.

Looking uncharacteristically sheepish, Isabela nodded. "Keeping Castillon off my back didn't seem quite as worth it when I saw the flames." She held the book out, thrusting it towards Hawke's chest. "They want it so bad, they can have it and fuck off back to Par Vollen."

Hawke raised a brow. "So why are you giving it to me?"

Isabela scoffed. "Well, I'm not going in there."

"You have to apologize," Hawke stated firmly.

Varric chuckled. "Yeah, time to make nice, Rivani."

"An admission of fault would do well to prove your contrition," Fenris agreed.

Isabela looked at them like they'd collectively sprouted second heads. "You have got to be kidding. They'll drag me off in chains."

Hawke's expression hardened. "I'm not going to let that happen."

Their eyes met, and Isabela slowly pulled the book back. "You really mean that."

He nodded firmly. "I do."

A roar ripped through the hall beyond them which lead deeper into the Keep and everyone's attention snapped to the closed doors at its end.

"Well, that doesn't sound good," Merrill remarked.

"Let's go." Hawke didn't wait for the others to agree. He marched off, driven on by deep growls and furious noises of exertion emanating from the closed-off throne room. 

Whatever the Arishok was up to, Hawke intended to put a stop to it.

He raised his greatsword higher, prepared to strike, and planted the sole of his boot just below the doorknobs, dropping into a defensive stance as the doors swung open. 

Hawke took in the scene in a flash: Nobles crowded around the edges of the room, their expressions overcome in equal parts with horror and awe. Qunari warriors stood as sentries among them, their stern visages and imposing figures acting as a barrier between the masses and the center of the room. In the middle of it all, commanding the attention of all other occupants, were two figures. The Arishok was on his knees, bloodied, bleeding from dozens of small cuts, and his weapons lay scattered across the ground. Beside him a petite female elf with hair so black it appeared blue where the light hit it and a deadly curved sword held in one hand was midway through a whirling swing, and as Hawke watched the momentum of her movement carried the razor edge of her blade through the massive neck of the Arishok, severing his head from his body. 

The doors crashed into the inner walls at the same moment the head bounced unceremoniously to the floor, and the attention of the room was immediately focused on Hawke.

His shoulders slumped dejectedly as the Arishok's body flopped to the ground. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" He yelled, dropping his greatsword with a clang.

The elf lowered her blade and narrowed her eyes at him, one brow quirking up in confusion.

"Hawke here really wanted to have it out with the Arishok," Varric explained, wide smile betraying his amusement at Hawke's outcry. "You beat him to it."

"Oh," she replied simply, glancing at the corpse then back to Hawke. "I'm sorry I ruined your party."

[neocity-sarai]

I Won’t Let You Go

✹ main concept: inspired by the anime “yona of the dawn”

✹ pairing: bodyguard!na jaemin x princess!reader

✹ alerts: mentions of blood, fluff, angst

“Princess, get behind me.”

Being surrounded by dozens of soldiers from the Aeogelius kingdom on a slippery cliff was not the ideal situation you had in mind. Just days ago, you felt as if your beating heart had been ripped out of your chest from seeing the bloodied hands of your childhood best friend and the fallen body of the king- your father. The night before, you had gazed at the translucent, milky-white orb that hung high among the stars while your father tenderly brushed the lilies out of your hair from the day’s ceremony. Now, you try to force yourself to blink away your hot tears and the memory of your father’s dark eyes that were bereft of life. You feel yourself shake from the vertigo as you cling to Jaemin’s sleeve, his strong arm holding you against his chest. You stare up at Jaemin, his eyes cut with a sharp coldness, his jaw clenched with fury as he gripped his steel castillon sword in his other hand. A soldier dressed in black and red robes takes steps towards you, his hands reaching out, “Princess. You must return home at once. We’ve been given orders by the king.”

You flash your eyes at the soldier, scoffing, “You mean the man who murdered my father? He’s no king. He’s a coward and a fool.”

You watch the soldier’s face morph from sympathetic to astringent, his tongue swiping his lip, “I am not asking you again, princess.”

In one abrupt movement, Jaemin advances to the soldier, pointing his silver-melded blade to the curve of the man’s ear, “You’re not taking the princess anywhere. Not unless you’re prepared to lose a limb or two.”

The man in the robes screams as he orders his soldiers to attack Jaemin. Like a strike of lightning, Jaemin clashes his weapon to the flying arrows, dodging the swinging swords that spin around him like a tornado. You stumble backwards from the vision of Jaemin moving his arms with aggressive force, your feet hurting from your worn-down shoes. A man kneels on the cliff’s higher ledge, his bow aimed to Jaemin’s shoulder. You’re too late. The wooden stem collides at Jaemin, causing him to let out a pained shout as you watch his tall figure stagger to his knees. Without hesitation, you run to him, using your hands to support his upper-body while rouge stains the fabric of his cloak. His melanoid eyes plead at you, Jaemin grits his teeth in sheer pain, “Princess, you must run. I’ll hold them off so you can escape!”

You give him a desperate stare, “Jaemin, I’m not letting you go. I’m not leaving. It’s not an option.”

Jaemin’s irises turn angry, the shadows transforming into titian fire, “Don’t be foolish! You want to live don’t you?!”

Stiffening your jaw, you raise a palm to cup the curve of Jaemin’s scarred cheek, “I want you to live on with me! I can’t do this without you I-”

You feel as if you’ll collapse from the harsh impact of Jaemin’s lips on yours. The silvery hairs that shade the lids of his eyes tickle your face, his palm molded to your jaw. His lips feel hot as if they taste like electricity and salt, the sensation ending when he pulls away in haste- leaving the air around you cold. Jaemin gives you a knowing smile before pecking your lips softly, “Wait for me princess. I’ll protect you.”

A cyclone of raging firebolts surrounds Jaemin and the horde of yelling soldiers, their voices are laced with shock, “the lightning beast is upon us.”

[cryoform]

An image of the *unfinished at the time* reproduction of the Castillion sword with type XXa blade by Peter Johnsson based on an original in the Royal Armoury of Leeds under object number IX.2226. My (new) favorite blade type recreated by my favorite sword maker :) Source: http://myarmoury.com/talk/viewtopic.php?t=25258&highlight=castillon+castillion+dordogne

[fandomn00blr]

WIP WednesD4y!

The ever-wonderful @serial-chillr​ tagged me on this blessed WIP Wednesday (HAPPY Dragon 4ge D4Y, everyone!!!)...

Here’s something fun (I think) from an upcoming chapter of Part III: Fly Away, of my previously mentioned lifelong-WIP, Lost and Found: The Misadventures of Marian Hawke and Everyone She Meets, that I’ve been working on polishing up for...oh...six months? ;)

Context: Isabela and Merrill and Varric and Fenris and Hawke have fled via Isabela’s new ship to Brandel’s Reach at the end of DA2, and some of Castillon’s people ambush them, intending to reclaim his ship from Isabela. But, like, obviously, the good guys win...then it gets saucy! (In this world state, this is the first real kiss for Fenris and Hawke since “A Bitter Pill” and things have been heckin angsty...)

...

As Hawke straightened up from her last kill, panting, with a wickedly victorious grin in his direction, a couple of stragglers came flying down from the mast pole between them, swords out, aiming straight for her. Fenris phased across the deck of the ship, swinging his massive sword and separating their heads from their bodies before either of them even realized he was there.

He turned to Hawke, who was standing behind him in stunned awe, and in one motion grabbed her around the waist and pulled her all the way to his mouth for a kiss.

“You always celebrate your victories prematurely,” he growled into her mouth, without pulling away, even a little, as her hands, still holding her daggers, flailed helplessly behind her. She didn’t know what to do, what she was allowed to hold onto, if she could even kiss him back, and she certainly didn’t want to do anything that might put an end to this unexpected development.

He pressed his hand more firmly against her back, bringing her closer, leaning into her, over her, nearly bending her backwards, and her daggers fell onto the deck of the ship with two loud clangs. She felt like she was falling, and if it weren’t for Fenris’ hold on her, she’d be laying right there next to her blades on the floor.

He kissed her again. Her lips parted for him this time, and his tongue slid past her teeth, brushing against her own as she tilted her head back and slightly to the side, making more room for him, surrendering to him and letting his hand on her back and the arm he had wrapped around her carry the rest of her weight.

It was a different sort of kiss than the kind she and Anders had often shared in moments like this, with both of them reaching and grabbing impatiently at whatever they could get a hold of, tearing at clothes, intertwining limbs, pushing and shoving and wrestling with each other as their bodies negotiated haphazardly with one another for control, from nothing to everything as fast as they could manage.

There was no doubt that Fenris was firmly and decidedly in control here. And she was surprised by how much she actually enjoyed this feeling. Of being at his mercy...

Isabela stood watching them with her mouth hanging open, while Merrill and Varric both turned to see what had suddenly caught her attention, fearing another wave of attackers.

“Andraste’s flaming ass!” Varric muttered. “Now?!”

Catching sight of all three of them watching in varying degrees of shock and approval, Fenris let go of Hawke as suddenly as he had grabbed her, and she nearly fell backwards. His cheeks darkened instantly, the flush spreading all the way to his ears, and he ducked his head down, hoping he might become invisible. When he failed, he let out a disgruntled huff, then turned and stalked down the gangplank, in search of more murderous raiders to take his embarrassed frustration out on.

“Fenris! Wait!” Hawke shouted, before shooting Varric one of the dirtiest looks he’d ever seen as she caught her breath and chased after him.

“This doesn’t mean you win,” Varric grumbled to Isabela, as he slung his crossbow back over his shoulder.

“But I didn’t lose…” she grinned.

“You said two weeks. It’s been a month and a half! And they’re not exactly at ‘happily ever after’ yet.”

“No winners, then?” She stuck out her hand for him to shake. An extension of their little bet.

“No losers, either...yet.” He grasped her hand and shook it reluctantly. “And I hope, for their sake, it stays that way.”

Isabela smiled wide. “I’ll let you take me out for drinks when we get to Denerim.”

...

I’m gonna tag @pri-the-writer, @figgypudz, @badpriestessofbuttsburgh, and @pocketcucco! What are yall workin on?

[erikacousland]

Castillon Replica | Peter Johnsson – Sword Smith

An exact replica of one of the swords from the Castillion find. The original belongs to the Royal Armouries in Leeds and is presently on loan to the Frazier Arms Museum in Louisville, Kentucky (IX.3683).

This was one of the first swords I had the privilege to document at the Royal Armouries. It is not very long on the blade, but massive, powerful and very well balanced. The whole sword has a feeling of sturdiness to it and is very ready in the hand. A serious weapon for close quarter fighting.

Apart from these martial and military qualities, it is also a beautiful object of masterfully accomplished metal craft. Every detail is designed with an eye to the overall effect and made with an economy of form and a deep understanding of lines and proportion.

*

Sword (1400-1499) - Royal Armouries collections

Cross-hilted sword. Oakeshott Type XVIII (WRONG? - CHECK) Object Title: Sword Date: 1400-1499 Object Number: IX.3683

Provenance: Purchased from Andrew Lumley (dealer), 1st May 1991. Formerly Deposit A123/7. Reported to have been found in the River Dordogne, near the site of the Battle of Castillon (1453).

Physical Description: Deep wheel pommel of Oakeshott type J1, deeply hollowed out in the centre, and with a square tang-button which spreads to a rectangular base which is slightly raised above the top of the pommel. Straight cross of irregular pentagonal section - flat towards the pommel and ridged towards the blade - and with ends turned towards the blade. The mid-point of the cross is slightly ridged; it is also drawn slightly towards the blade and has a small extension like a finger wearing a ring. The grip is missing and the tapering tang is exposed. Fairly short blade, very broad at the hilt, and of flattened diamond section (typical Oakeshott type XVIII).

Dimensions Dimensions: Overall length: 885 mm., Width across quillons: 175 mm (6 7/8 in.), Blade length: 723 mm., Blade width (by hilt): 68 mm. Weight: 1400 gm. (3 lb. 1 1/4 oz.)

[kultofathena]

Castillon Arming Sword The Castillon Arming Sword has a blade which is forged from C60 high carbon steel; its notable profile taper begins with a wide and durable base for the blade which tapers to acute and deadly thrusting tip ideal for penetrating into the weaker points and exploitable gaps of of 15th century armor, especially when coupled with half-swording techniques. Like many swords of this type, the main cutting portion of the blade retains enough width to ensure that it will cut and slash with decisive ability. This profile taper also serves to give the sword a balance that makes it quite responsive and easy to wield. The hilt has a crossguard and pommel of steel and a grip of durable wood which is bound over with tightly-fitted leather. Pommel inserts of bronze embellish the pommel and the sword is assembled into the hilt with a robust peen over a peen block on the pommel – a method which creates a robustly assembled sword. Included is tough scabbard of wood which is wrapped in high quality vegetable-tanned leather and capped with a protective steel chape. A sword belt of thick black leather with a metal buckle and belt chape. The Castillon horde of swords is a particularly famous cache of swords which were found in the River Dordogne near Castillon. Dated to about 1450, this notable find included some eighty swords with many of them sharing similar hilt stylings, which is suggestive of them having come from no more than a handful of English swordmakers who were supplying swords in large numbers for the English military expeditions in France. How did so many swords end up dumped in the Dordogne river? These probable English swords were likely being sent upriver in a barge from the then English stronghold of Bordeaux as part of a resupply for fortified garrisons at Castillon or Bergerac before being capsized or wrecked, dumping its military cargo into the river bed. It is unknown if it was mishap, sabotage, or ambush which caused the foundering of the resupply barge and its loss may well have been a disaster for the Castellan of an English-held castle – but it preserved a great time capsule of mid 15th century swords for arms and armor archaeologists.

[kultofathena]

Castillon Arming Sword

The Castillon Arming Sword has a blade which is forged from C60 high carbon steel; its notable profile taper begins with a wide and durable base for the blade which tapers to acute and deadly thrusting tip ideal for penetrating into the weaker points and exploitable gaps of of 15th century armor, especially when coupled with half-swording techniques. Like many swords of this type, the main cutting portion of the blade retains enough width to ensure that it will cut and slash with decisive ability. This profile taper also serves to give the sword a balance that makes it quite responsive and easy to wield.

The hilt has a crossguard and pommel of steel and a grip of durable wood which is bound over with tightly-fitted leather. Pommel inserts of bronze embellish the pommel and the sword is assembled into the hilt with a robust peen over a peen block on the pommel – a method which creates a robustly assembled sword. Included is tough scabbard of wood which is wrapped in high quality vegetable-tanned leather and capped with a protective steel chape. A sword belt of thick black leather with a metal buckle and belt chape.

The Castillon horde of swords is a particularly famous cache of swords which were found in the River Dordogne near Castillon. Dated to about 1450, this notable find included some eighty swords with many of them sharing similar hilt stylings, which is suggestive of them having come from no more than a handful of English swordmakers who were supplying swords in large numbers for the English military expeditions in France.

How did so many swords end up dumped in the Dordogne river? These probable English swords were likely being sent upriver in a barge from the then English stronghold of Bordeaux as part of a resupply for fortified garrisons at Castillon or Bergerac before being capsized or wrecked, dumping its military cargo into the river bed. It is unknown if it was mishap, sabotage or ambush which caused the foundering of the resupply barge and its loss may well have been a disaster for the Castellan of an English-held castle – but it preserved a great time capsule of mid 15th century swords for arms and armor archaeologists.

[armthearmour]

A lovely Arming Sword possibly recovered from the site of the Battle of Castillon,

OaL: 43 in/109.2 cm

Blade Length: 36.3 in/92.1 cm

Blade Width: 1.6 in/4.1 cm

Weight: 2.4 lbs/1.02 kg

English, ca. 1431-1470, housed at the Royal Armouries Study Collection.

[kultofathena]

Deepeeka - 15th Century Arming Sword – 5.5mm Thick

This late 15th Century Arming sword would look right at home in both the gauntlet-clad hand of a knight or as a sidearm for professional man-at-arms or archer during the Hundred Years War. It takes its stylization from many of the Castillon hoard of swords that were found in a river in France – probably as cargo on a barge which foundered in the river. This large finding of swords were believed to have been crafted in England from a few workshops and were likely part of a military campaign resupply effort which was lost.

This blade of this 15th Century Arming Sword is hand-forged from high carbon steel which has been tempered and solidly fitted into the hilt for a strong overall construction. The crossguard and pommel are steel and the carved grip is wood with a tight binding of stitched leather. The sword is matched with a companion wood-core scabbard which is finished with tight and protective stitched leather wrap.

Order this blade HERE!