Lady Sif vs. the Avengers Deep Space Monitoring Station | Journey Into Mystery #652


Ray Bradbury, “The Fog Horn”

My weapons have dulled.  I shall have to find a smith to mend them.

          [Her train of thought pauses as disgust graces her features.]  Ugh.  Or worse.  A Dwarf.

2 weeks ago with 1 notes

I’d rather die on my feet than live my life on my knees.


Sif in Yes Men.



         For as poor as Shay was, she certainly packed in a lot of drinking. Enough that sometimes she wondered if it was too much. Sometimes, anyway. Usually she let the thought go, because really, there were few comforts in this world. She was stuck in Wales, of all places. She deserved a beer. Or two. Or three, if someone would give it to her. That’s how the Irish got along, wasn’t it? It had to be sort of legitimate. Legitimate enough that she could let the habit go. Until now, anyway, when she turned to look down the street quick enough to see a flash, and a woman wandering where she hadn’t been before.

                             A woman who looked like she’d gotten lost on the way to a Renn Faire. Or something. Maybe she just had a unique sense of fashion, it was hard to tell anymore. Clearing her throat, she furrowed her eyebrows, pressing herself to speak with limited hesitation. “Ah—Are you lost? Or something. Not that it’s my business, but you look lost. More lost…than the average person, anyway.”


         The shield maiden had noticed the woman before her all too quickly, and with a thoughtful pause, Sif remained where she stood, her sword sheathed at her side to show that she meant no harm.  This was Midgard, after all, and though the Asgardian goddess did not belong in this realm nor to its people, she would defend them just as resolutely as Thor would.  Half-amusement was evident in Sif’s gaze.  How normal, how completely casual, she was being spoken to right now—yes, there was a level of reluctance and confusion, that was normal when speaking to a god—but how utterly simple it all seemed to be.  Then again, this was Midgard, and though its people had faced the out of the ordinary and the supernatural in the past, the mortals often found perplexity with that of which they did not and could not understand.  Alas, such feeble minds…

                             “Greetings.  I am the Lady Sif.  Where am I?  What would you call this place?” This was no New Mexico or the London city that Thor had ventured through before, no, this place was some ways north than that.  But where…  It is not as though the shield maiden had the time to take research of every single plot of dirt and land Midgard had to offer; she had einherjar to train, battles to fight, and missions straight from Asgardia to accomplish.  But this woman in front of her seemed intelligent enough.  At least, that was all that Sif could really hope for.


Cross-Hilted Broadsword

  • Dated: late 19th century
  • Culture: British
  • Measurements: 103.5 cm overall length in scabbard

Of the type usually associated with the Scottish regiments, the sword has a burnished pommel and guard with sharkskin grip with wires. It features a straight, double-edged bifullered blade marked “Fenton Brothers, Sheffield” and it has a steel-mounted field scabbard.

Source: Copyright © 2014 Auction Flex