The Rus and the Ice Folk
Ours is a cold hard world of red rock and ice. But better to rule in Hell… much worse to serve there. So we thank the gods of ice and fire that we are not the ice folk. They are our subjects, our prey.
We have the magic of iron. We have the slavers chains. We have the branding irons. But we have a fear of them ever rising against us so the only answer is to keep them crushed to the ground. This we do with our ice ships and our contempt for them. The best and the brightest we cull and sell to the south. The strong we use in our households and mines, under close watch, lock and key, and the whip. The devious and sly we use against their own folk.
Through their labors we live well enough. It is ironic that once we had left the Gaellic chains behind it was the ice folk who led us to this place. They hunted and fished, feeding and clothing us, they even took a turn in the mines and gathered the thin timber on the spine of the world with us. They prefered the ice while we exploited the red rocked scab. Then, when wood and iron had made us stronger, we took from them what they would have freely given. And then we took their freedom.
Our is a cold hard world, we Rus who live near the endless ice. Some say that we serve to keep their blood lines fresh. Some even say the slaves we take live better with us as thralls than they would on the ice. Easy to say as the master. Tis better to rule in Hell than to serve in heaven, or so said the Devil and so say the Rus, finding our place in this cold hell.