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Description
Certainly not one of my best things I ever made. Two triangles, with Norse runes cut in the corners with a jeweler's saw (I messed up on the Runes, of course). The pieces were soldered together, making a six point star which, among other things, is a symbol of elemental balance in modern New Age crafts. Whether this holds true historically or not, I can't say, though I certainly would have claimed as much at the time.

The stone in the center is a tigerseye which I was trying to prong bezel, and failed so miserably that it's painful to look at still.

The beads all along the piece are, of course, tigerseye in two varying sizes. All the metal is nickel, and both the sheets and wire were 18g. As per usual with the pieces I made before I ordered and thus had a continued record of the size of my rings, I have no clue what the ID of the rings are.

The last time I saw the piece, I'd given it to one Miss Theresa, which means at this point in time that it's either somewhere behind her wardrobe, or has since been thrown away in a fit of rage towards my continued existance.

Description
Certainly not one of my best things I ever made. Two triangles, with Norse runes cut in the corners with a jeweler's saw (I messed up on the Runes, of course). The pieces were soldered together, making a six point star which, among other things, is a symbol of elemental balance in modern New Age crafts. Whether this holds true historically or not, I can't say, though I certainly would have claimed as much at the time.

The stone in the center is a tigerseye which I was trying to prong bezel, and failed so miserably that it's painful to look at still.

The beads all along the piece are, of course, tigerseye in two varying sizes. All the metal is nickel, and both the sheets and wire were 18g. As per usual with the pieces I made before I ordered and thus had a continued record of the size of my rings, I have no clue what the ID of the rings are.

The last time I saw the piece, I'd given it to one Miss Theresa, which means at this point in time that it's either somewhere behind her wardrobe, or has since been thrown away in a fit of rage towards my continued existance.