Artani Gunari
Ka jav te xenav tut!
Noble Born
Renegade Gypsy
Hooked up with another of ilk, Stefan
Terrorizing the countryside, getting it where they can
Six foot two
Twenty-four Winters
Bronze eyes and dark hair
Muscular build barbaric fighter

He was trained in the skills of hunting, the challenge more in outfoxing his prey. As he got older and rebelled against the stuffiness of the court, he took to that which was more in his blood. Wilderness. Nature borne he took off on his own at first fending for himself in a way he was much like the raccoon. Quick. Smart. The best of the wild thieves to survive. It had been the many -gentleman- refining schools sent to that he met Stefan Luciano.

Two of ilk they became fast friends. Comrades. It was Stefan he hooked up with when he set out on his own, both dissatisfied with being a noble's son. Both wanting to experience life without restrictions. Doing it their way.

-sampling of their rapport taking from live play-

Artani had a coin between his fingers. One pilfered when he passed through the crowd to join his comrade. Bronze gaze was like melted gold much as the coin now tapping in a dull sound against the table top. He was eyeing a lass, one that would present a challenge for his friend. He did brag did he not? Of course Stefan bragged a lot and probably could back most of it up. Lass was fetching too but walled between two very large men that looked like they could hold their own. Really, the question was more how much a madman his friend was.

"Be right back."  The tankard found the table and Stefan stood, slapping a palm to Art's shoulder as he passed.  What Art considered bragging was the mere fact that Stefan rarely slept in the same place...thrice.  Luciano didn't have to say a word, at most times didn't.  That grin of his would tell it all.  He eased through the crowd, to the bar, and there he gained the tender's attention with a lift of hand.  A few words were shared with the woman, coins exchanged, and he nodded as it seemed she repeated his request for clarity.  He knocked his knuckles to the wood, a show of a job well done on the tender's part, then weave his way back to the table.  Little miss Bookworm would not need count the number of shots she added to her coffee.  At least, not for some time.  Courtesy of Romany ... a friend...of a friend.

Boot clad feet pushed against the seat they were propped on, shoving it away as he was up like a spring to uncoil. Stretch of limb and coin tucked away into a small pocket of the vest worn over a plain shirt.

"Na may kharunde kai chi khal tut" This statement for the standing Art as Stefan returned to the table.  "Do you prepare to leave? Or just stretching your bones?"  Stefan had no such need, he just collected his tankard and lowered again to his chair.

Fair was fair, he plucked the coin back out to toss onto the table as Stefan returned. Words came low in a dare as he leaned with the flat of his palms against the wood angling his body over it towards his friend. Only a glance given over his shoulder would indicate the one he'd chosen if Stefan was game. The coin his if he succeeded.

A dip of head toward the hearthdweller before Stefan leaned back in the chair, front legs lifting from the floor boards as he looked in the direction indicated.  Tempting wager.  Definitely tempting.  But, rather tame, was it not?

Fine looking woman too and well noted before that bronze glance would drive further past to the one now with unlimited shots for her coffee. Soon she would not see the words on the pages of her book.

Perhaps, her oblivion was the goal.  Or, perhaps Stefan was just kind.  Those who knew Stefan, knew which.  The chair dropped back down to the wooden planks and he chuckled, squinting an eye up at his comrade who loomed over him.

The brace of his palms shifted as he pushed back up and then down into his seat again. Tankard taken up as the intensity of eyes would turned back to the one in dare upon his friend.

"The oyster between the reefs?"  To pluck it free without losing limb or life...very interesting. And then, would a pearl even be within?  Stefan was a gambling man and, any man who knew a good wager knew when the odds were strongly against him.  He stroked his chin, watching for now as the woman cavorted between the masculine mountains.

"Lowe k-o vast, bori k-o grast." Letting out a good laugh in that taunt of words hoping to add that spark to rile. Feet were once more kicked up on that empty chair seat as he leaned back comfortably. Hooded gaze now would remain on the woman between the mountains. Of course he could play all kinds of ways with those very thoughts. All was up to his friend but then there would be the devil to pay if he got a fat lip for it too. The challenge was on like old times in those stuffy gentlemen schools, too-wealthy parents sending their sons off so they could go on holiday.

"The man who spawned you was a bastard and you a bastard son."  But he was chuckling under his breath, watching, even as the one man turned a gaze in their direction.  Stefan leaned forward, pressing the tip of his middle finger on the coin, and sliding it back in Art's direction.  "I've no stomach for losing my guts this night, Comrade."  Stefan was not fool enough to believe if he stepped in the woman's direction, those two Goliaths wouldn't gladly have him doubled over from a fisted gut shot, if not worse.  No.  Even that well plucked coin wasn't worth that.

"That's exactly why we get along so well." Turning that bronze glance to his friend as the tankard was braced against his thigh. Chuckle came to mingle as he didn't take the turning down of the dare as him being chicken but rather smarts on his comrade's part. But ... the devil would dare.

"Aye, it was my father who took your mother ..."  He muttered low, just for Art, and brought up his tankard again.

"That's because my mother was better in bed than yours." So he could give it back too as a grin finally spread. The coin plucked back from the table and tucked away into the vest pocket.

Stefan laughed out loud, nearly choking on the swallow of ale that barely made it down in time.  "Remind me again why I tolerate your company when traveling?"

"Because I am of the few that can challenge your wit as well you challenge mine." He lifted his tankard in salute before drinking down a goodly amount.

"Ah..."  He nodded, enlightened by the looks of it, though that smile never wavered.  "And here I thought it had something to do with camaraderie.  Good that you clarified that for me again."  His own tankard's brim tipped toward Artani in a form of returned toast.

"That's somewhere under the heap of everything else." Sliding a glance barwise then over to follow the one before it lifted away and back to his friend.

It was in the lands of Heathfield, Art finally met his match in a lass. One he couldn't get to bed though he tired. Oh, she responded but there was something else about her that plagued him when he left the lands in traveling back home with Stefan. Though he had not visited his family, avoided them like the plague. Far as they knew he was probably dead. Haunted by dreams of a lake and Sarah in his arms, daddy's little girl as he'd moniker her, he was driven back to find out. Though it was risky for the size and temperment of her Father, some thing were worth pursuing even dying for.

He waylaid her one sunny day while she walked through a field. For the first time in so long he couldn't remember, he was open and honest with her instead of charming, smooth words that held nothing more than the breath it took to form them. The draw was real, not one sided and Artani's ways of a wandering nomad changed that day. He set to courting Sarah with the approval of her father. Took on a job at their ranch where another cattleman was always welcome.

*Picture used are to represent how Artani would look only. No Claims Made*

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