Where now is the Horse and the Rider? (Medeval RP, CLosed)

[The Rohirrim 1]

The Wind blew in Benol's face as he stood outside the Great Hall. Looking down at the Capital of Aoras, strewn about the Hill on which the hall stood. Arrayed outside the walls of the city, which were in the process of being replaced with stronger, stone walls, Benol could see the burial mounds, yellow flowers blossoming over them. Under one of them was his Father, the Great King of the Riddermark. But now he was gone. Benol has mourned his passing. He remembered the song that was traditionally sung at a funeral:
Where is the horse and the rider?
Where is the horn that was blowing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
Their days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.

But he now had the matter of Rohan to occupy his mind. Rohan had not had much contact with outsiders, except for their Kin In Derson, and Benol hoped that when news of his father death reached the outside world, maybe, just maybe, an emissery might be sent to Rohan and the Rohirrim could have contact with outsiders again. Benol knew of the dangers this might bring, and he was adamant that he would not bend to outside influence of outside aggression.

As Benol survayed the plains around the city, his sharp eyes could almost see the grasslands waving in the wind. The main reason he was standing outside was that he was expecting 1st Marshal Frima to visit the Capital soon, along with his Eored. Benol smiled slightly, he hadn't missed the innkeepers buying extra supplies once they had heard of the impending visit by an entire Eored of Riders. Sure enough, Benol soon saw a fast moving blur coming towards the city. Occasionally a flash of light, the Spears of the Riders, could be seen. And a short time later the Riders rode into the city. Benol only had to wait another twenty minutes before Frima made his way up to the Hall.
"My Lord" He said bowing as he reached the top.
"Welcome home brother" Benol smiled "Are you well?"
"I am fine, we had a skirmish with a bunch of rouges in the Westfold again"
Benol nodded "I take it you dealt with them?"
"Of course"
Benol smiled as they headed inside.

A few hours later, Benol and Frima were sparring, to keep each others skills as sharp as their blades. The Hall rang with the clash of steel as the swords blazed together. Watching was Shield Maden Aowyn, her hair shone in the light sneaking into the hall from the open shutters, she smiled slightly a Frima tripped Benol and they began to tussle on the floor.
"Err, my lord?" One of the Door Wardens asked uncertainly as he observed "The Gate Guardians inform me there is a party here, from a foreign land"
"Are they Dersonians?" Benol asked standing and sheathing his sword.
"They bore no device that Derson uses these days" The Warden replied.
"Send them up" Benol instructed sitting on the Throne of Rohan.

[Terror Incognitia]

"My lord Benol, we bear greetings from His Grace, King Neil II of Incognitia. He commands me to bring you this token of his regard."

Earl Samuel Witting, from the Western Marches of Incognitia, showed his regard as was traditional to his people - he knelt, with his head held high.
He motioned to a member of his party, who brought forth one of the finest of Incognitian bows. It was sometimes called a man-bow, for it was the height of a man, and it's draw the weight of a man. This example had adornments in silver anywhere they would not affect the draw of the piece, and all the arrows in the quiver were likewise tipped with silver.

He read then from a missive from his King:
"As a Prince whose reputation shines in war, I gift you with an example of Incognitia's greatest weapon of war.
It is adorned with precious metal to signify my hope that it need never be used.
I send these emissaries to show my regard for your noble line, and to discover what my people might be able to trade with yours."

"As my King's message says, good King, we have been sent to foster good relations with your noble house, and also to examine possibilities for trade with your nation. For instance our iron-work is fine, and we have much wool, while we hear your horses are known for their speed and steadiness in battle. Our trading ships already reach further than this, in going to Angermanland and points East, and we bear your country no ill-will either past or present, so our hopes are high in this new endeavour."

[The Rohirrim 1]

"I welcome you, and your people to Rohan" Benol said as he stood up and stepped forward and accepted the Gift to exaimine. He had to admit he was impressed, Rohans bows were nowhere near as exquisite, nor as large. The bows of the riders needed to be small enough to be used easily when riding a horse. The Craft of Rohan was more in the swords of the riders, the helms and the Spears. Each Spear was was a minor work of art, as were the swords, which were specific for each rider. As for trade, Benol figured that he could potentially acquire better armour for the Riders.

He turned back to the messenger.
"I'm sure that trade can be arranged" Benol commented as he looked at the messenger "Should you wish to trade horses, we would request that you give us a guarantee on your honour that they will be well treated, our horses are dear to our hearts"
Benol strode across the hall to a large chest by the Throne. He opened it up and looked inside. A few seconds later he pulled something out, he walked back to the messenger.
"This is the Horn Of Aer, the last of the 1st line of kings" Benol said, the Horn was a heirloom of a now dead line of Rohans kings. It was a beautiful item, laced with gold and silver. It particually bore the symbol of a silver horse. If one put it to their lips it would produce a clear call, capable of being heard many miles away "I gift this Horn to your King, may it bring him fortune, and let him know that whenever the horn is blown, Hope maybe unforseen, prevails"

[Terror Incognitia]

"Your Grace, that is more than generous of you. I feel almost uncomfortable accepting such a priceless heirloom.
I am certain that King Neil will recognise the genuine sentiment which must back a gift so generous."

OOC: Not much for me to work with there, heh. I assume detailed trade negotiations would take place with some form of councillor or aide to the King, rather than bothering the King with detail now that he's approved the broad sweep?

[The Rohirrim 1]

Benol smiled as he handed the horn gently to the messenger.
"If I may introduce Marshel Frima, my trusted right hand" Benol said gesturing to Frima "If you wish to trade you'd do good to speak to him, he'll find you lodgeings for you and your men"
Frima walked forward
"Gentlemen, if you'll come with me?" He said.
"One more thing, we're having a feast tonight to celebrate the end of mourning for my father, it would honour us greatly if you would attend?" Benol asked them.

[Terror Incognitia]

"Of course my lord, we would be honoured to attend your celebration."
And they would. Incognitians were generally good drinkers and eaters, well accustomed to over-indulging congenially, be they guests or hosts alike. They wouldn't be so crude as to challenge their hosts to drinking contests and the like, but they would make sure that they were seen being sociable.
In any case, with the invitation accepted, they bowed to the King and left him in the company of Marshal Frima.

"So, Marshal. You have seen the quality of our bows, though you may not be overly interested given how difficult their use is to learn.
If I assure you that our artisans can make all their products to a similar standard - for a reasonable price, of course - what would you tell me your country would like to purchase from us?
All I will be able to do is return to our merchants and suggest that they may find such-and-such profitable. However, there will be plenty of interest. With wars abrewing in so many places, many men are looking for safer trade routes...even if they themselves carry weapons of war."

[The Rohirrim 1]

Frima led the group down the steps from the top of the hill to the main part of the city. Passing through the various buildings, the bustle all but consumed them.
"The Main thing we would be interested in, from a weaponary point of view would be new armour" Frima replied "We've spent many years working on the art of Sword making and spear work, but our armour, whilst it does the job is below the standard it should and we often rely on the speed of our steeds to make up, we're looking for mail armour, like we wear now, but as strong as possible whilst not compromising the lightness of it, as for other trade, you may want to suggest to the merchents when you get home that they visit individual merchents who will have trade requests more frequently than the king will issue them I'm sure"

[Terror Incognitia]

"New armour? Hmm, we can probably sell you armour. Though why you'd want mail escapes me, Marshal. It's all about plate these days - modern weaponry can't break through mail very often, but a strong man with a mace can break your bones even through mail. It's more expensive of course, and difficult to make, but there really is no better protection."
"I can understand that you want light equipment, so as not to encumber horse and rider beyond what is practical. However, certainly in my nation no knight who can afford plate has worn mail alone for a generation or more. And with such fine warhorses as we know you to have here, it should not be impossible..."
"Unfortunately we did not bring any mounted armour...it has a rather different design to dismounted as the requirements are different. I can ensure that some mounted plate is brought by those who come next, however."

[The Rohirrim 1]

Frima nodded.
"We'll certainly take a look at the Plate mail, but for now we'd like to make some orders on the mail, as most of our riders will still be wearing that" Frima replied as he led the group towards the stable district "As for the horses themselves, let's have a look in the cities stable"

[Terror Incognitia]

They passed through the city, and came to a surprisingly large, well built stable.
<Of course, these people do adore their horses>, Witting thought to himself.
And then they entered the stable, and for the first time Earl Witting got to take a slow, calm, up-close look at a horse of Rohan.
"He's...he's beautiful. The stories that reach us don't do your horses justice, my good sir. You will gain much for those you are willing to trade, especially if you are prepared to give any up to stud."
The horse which stood before him was a beautiful chestnut stallion, a good fifteen hands high, and clearly of extremely fine stock. A trader in average nags would sell his soul for a horse of such quality. A high-class horse breeder would merely offer marriage into the family, or alternatively much of his worldly wealth.
And though he was the best horse in this stable, there were many horses of nearly the same standard. Though this was the capital, it wasn't the only city. The horses of Rohan were a lucrative good indeed. The only thing more expensive than Rohan horses for an army, would be full equipment and training as heavy cavalry...
"Yes Marshal, there will definitely be an interest in your horses. We have decent horses of our own, but not as fine as this."

[The Rohirrim 1]

"These are some of our best" Frima nodded gently placing a hand on the chestnut horses neck. The horse sniffed Frima and nudged against him "This Fine Stallion happens to be my Horse; Mist"
Mist snorted softly at the mention of his name as Frima picked up a carrot from the bucket on the floor and fed it to the horse. Frima knew that Rohan was in on a good deal. Due to their culture and their long history Rohan had many thousand horses, enough for all the riders and more besides. Whilst he knew that the King would be reluctant to sell the best of the horses, as they would be needed to reproduce to continue their lines. Frima had a feeling that even if Rohan sold the horses that weren't of a standard for a Rider, they would probably still be better than most horses in the world. Some of the Great Horses could be sold for use by foreign kings, maybe. Frima walked over to the side of the stables and got a pair of Stirrups, one his own. He placed one on mist and the other on another beautiful Stallion, probably the second best in the stables.
"Would you care to go for a ride?" Frima asked.

[The Rohirrim 1]

Bump

[Terror Incognitia]

As they rode, Earl Witting gazed out across the countryside. He had seen it on the way in, of course, but then he had been absorbed with tension as he contemplated meeting a foreign potentate.
Relations with Rohan had never been close. It was not that there had been hostility, more a lack of contact.

As they rode on, he could see why. Open plains...these were a people of the steppe. Of barbaric splendour and individual valour...they were rich in courage, and perhaps in gold, but everything was somehow *cruder* than it was at home.
Some fruitful trading could be done, for sure. Crossing Rohan horses with Fiduses horses from just across the border, that was an idea with promise. But these people seemed unable to offer much besides their horses and weapons of war, and in return they wanted little other than armour. They shared no great enemy to spur an alliance, and King Neil had no close relatives in need of marriage.
It seemed his mission had achieved all it was likely to, and they'd not even got to the banquet.

[The Rohirrim 1]

As they rode Frima considered the words of a Derson Scholor he had once heard, that described his people.
'They are proud and wilful, but they are true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many song' Frima smiled slightly, it was a fitting description, and one that the Rohirrim felt was to their liking. They rode over the plains for a short while until they came to one of the Larger Towns of Westfold, it wasn't the largest, but it was getting there. The Town was surroned by Farmland that was being worked, and the Town itself bustled, a stark contrast to the lonlyness of the Open Plains. As they rode into the town the Townfolk parted, and respectfully bowed to Frima, acknowldgeing his station as First Marshel of the Riddermark. The Rohirrim were not one for ceromony, but the Riders, and especially the marshels were to be respected. The Town merely got busiers as they reacehd further in. A company of the towns riders were mounting up in the main square to go out for some riding whilst the day was still young.