This is one of the hireable mercenary companies. 10,000 denars have to be paid to hire the company. This army is led by Sir Morcas VII, Baron Verral and consists of:
- Sir Morcas VII, Baron Verral
- 20-40 Snowlion Noble
- 30-60 Snowlion Lancer
- 40-80 Snowlion Longbowman
- 60-120 Snowlion Footman
To be hired, the player needs to be in war with The Kingdom of Ravenstern or The Kingdom of Ravenstern must be defeated. Its an improved version (both troops and leader) of The Free Company, being a well-rounded army.
This company may be hired by King Ulric as well.
Note: Since 3.9, the value of the company heavily increased as all of their troops were buffed. They raised from average army to top tier one.
"Treason!" The old baron Verral exclaimed. They can not do that. Our allegiance is to the Silver Throne and none else.
"But m'lord," the steward said meekly, picking up the letter from the new crowned 'King of Ravenstern' that the baron had dropped in his rage, his new knighthood order of the Dragon is strong and they will wage war on you if you Do not join them.
With furrowed brow Verral strode up and down the great hall of Dagon Castle, his ancestral seat. Finally I turned back to the steward and said: "Then we will fight. Call my bannermen and send riders to gather all other northmen that are still loyal to the Silver Throne. If the gods are we should crush this traitorous uprising."
Northern Pendor, the year 201, the last month of autumn.
The rider had jumped from his horse before it was completely still. He paid no further attention to the exhausted animal and hurried over to the keep from where the old Baron Verral was already coming to meet him.
"Your lordship", the man said, "I bring serious news: Your troops have been beaten at the bridge of Bazeck, Stoutheart Castle is about to surrender and the baronet of Saffrongate has gone over to the king's men."
"We are the king's men, you bloody fool!" Verral shouted at the man. "For there can be only one king and he sits the Silver Throne, not some wooden chair at Ravenstern."
"Yes, of course, m'lord", the man was quick to apologize. "Yet, the ki ... the usurper's troops will be here within a day, I barely escaped their outriders."
All defiance left Verral's expression. "Then it is over, he said with slumped shoulders and turned back to the keep. Let people gather their things, we depart before dusk to seek refuge further south where the people are still loyal to the throne." Then a little gleam returned to his eyes and he straightened his back again. "But we will eat back..."
Sarleon, the year 349, the second month of summer.
With a loud clatter the golden cup hit the wall, sprinkling its red contents over the gathered nobles who did their best to not notice the king's latest fit of rage.
"Defeat I?" King Ulric exclaimed, "another defeat? I will have the marshal's head for this. The north is rightfully ours! All of Pendor is rightfully ours, but most of all the rebellious north!"
"But Sire", one of his advisers made an attempt to calm the king down, "our armies are without any noticeable support up there. The populace helps their armies with supplies and even joins them in defending castles and towns."
The young nobleman in blue and white clothing stood in the shadows of the outer parts of the great hall and listened closely. A thought began to form in his head.
"Then I will have their heads, too!" Ulric shouted. "These northmen are all traitors and will pay for it with their lives!"
The young noble braced himself and shouldered his way through the crowd of lords until he stood in front of the dais. "Not all are traitors, Sire", he said.
Ulric's head spun around, his face growing even redder. "Who are you that you approach me dressed in Ravenstern's colors?" He growled, reaching for his sword.
"Not Ravenstern colors, Sire, the young noble said, but northern colors - colors that go better with a lion than a dragon I might say. I am Morcas VII, Baron Verral and the rightful lord of Dagon Castle. I have as much reason to hate the Ravensternians as you have, your grace, but I also know who could be persuaded to support you in the north. Give me leave to assemble loyal northmen under my banner and we shall see that it next time your forces will have ample support by the northmen."
It was only then that Ulric noticed the large white lion on the noble young's clothing. Slowly he nodded. "Yes, yes, that might just be what I have been waiting for. See my treasurer, Sir Morcas, I will provide you with everything you need."
Morcas bowed. "Thank you, Sire. We shall have our revenge on the northern traitors soon."
Near Falcondark Castle, the year 352, the second month of spring.
"Truce? Another truce?" Morcas asked, increasingly angry. "I am sick of Ulric's truces. He told me we would be driving the northmen before us, but instead this is the fifth truce in three years. I am sick of this. Ulric is weak and probably does not even want to subdue the north again. He is not worthy to sit the Silver Throne, I'm done with that monarch."
"But what will you do now, Morcas?" Vildred, his cavalry captain, enquired.
"Gather the men!" Morcas commanded in place of a reply. I have something to tell them. "We will lead our own war..."