Elf and Dwarf

The northern border of the Soviet Union, where once the Atlantic Ocean stretched vast and unbroken, is now a harsh expanse of jagged mountains. Snow blankets the peaks, reflecting the dim winter sunlight, while icy winds howl through the crags. 

The Elf Prince, Aerindral Silvalis, stood at the edge of a jagged ridge, his silver hair whipping in the icy wind. Behind him, his retinue of finely clad elven warriors and scholars gazed in awe and horror at the sight before them. Where they had expected the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, there now stretched an unending labyrinth of mountains, their peaks clawing at the sky like the ribs of a dead god. 

"This... This was the great ocean? What happened?"

A younger warrior named Caelith, one of the best warriors in the dwarf, stocky and clad in heavy armour that glints dully in the sun, gripped his axes tightly.

"These mountains... they don't feel natural. The energy here is strange and oppressive. It as it was not from this world."

"Maybe you are right, the weapon they used to duel with the orcs does not seem like they are from this world."

The Prince placed a calming hand on Caelith's shoulder.

"I do not know how long it takes for us to be here, maybe half a year? But anyway, we still have a long way to go, keep going, and we'll soon meet the people we want to meet. I hope the people we facing are not too difficult to deal with. Everything will be fine if they can agree to our request."

The group continue their journey, until the night.

The elven procession carefully descended one of the jagged peaks, their movements fluid and precise despite the treacherous terrain. Just as they reached a plateau, a low, rhythmic thudding sound filled the air. 

Caelith stopped abruptly, his ears twitching. "Do you hear that?"

The thudding grew louder, and moments later, a massive, strange beast appeared in the sky, its rotors chopping through the air like the wings of a giant insect. The elves froze, their hands instinctively going to their weapons. 

A lone Soviet Mi-8 helicopter patrols the area. The crew scans the desolate terrain, their eyes sharp for any sign of unusual activity.

"What manner of creature is that?" one of the warriors whispered, his voice tinged with both fear and wonder. 

Aerindral squinted at the hovering object. "It's no creature. It's... a machine, powered by forces beyond our understanding." 

Caelith drew his bow, aiming at the helicopter as it hovered above them. "Whatever it is, it watches us. If it's hostile, we must strike first!" 

Those who know magic also start to charge, and fireballs appear on their hand.

"Lower your bow, stop! Everyone." Aerindral commanded sharply, stepping forward. 

"But, my Prince—" 

"I said lower it!" Aerindral's voice carried an authority that silenced the warrior's protests. He gazed at the machine intently, noting its smooth movements and the bright light scanning the group below.

"This is their craft. The unknown country creation. We cannot afford to make them our enemies before we've even spoken." 

Reluctantly, Caelith lowered his weapon, though his grip remained tight on the bowstring. 

The movement below catches the pilot's attention. The searchlight on the helicopter immediately shone over them. 

The pilot, a veteran with a sharp instinct, radios in. "Unidentified group sighted near sector 12-B. Possibly an anomaly or... something else. Required reinforcements." 

The two sides remained in a standoff until more helicopters arrived half an hour later.

Two of the helicopters began to descend, their landing stirring snow and dust into a whirlwind. The elves shielded their faces, coughing at the sudden gust. As the machine settled, its metal doors opened, and uniformed Soviet soldiers emerged, their weapons drawn and their eyes wary. 

The elves exchanged uneasy glances. 

"Lower down our weapons. I believe we find who we are looking for. I will go communicate with them."

Aerindral then leaves his hand in the air, showing he has no hostility and walks toward the soldiers.

Prince Aerindral steps forward, his voice ringing clear against the wind. "We come in peace! We seek the rulers of this land, we carry no ill intent." 

A Soviet officer steps forward, his tone sceptical. "And why should we trust you? State your purpose, or this conversation ends here." 

Aerindral gestures to the mountains behind him. "Beyond these peaks lies our home. The orcs, with their unholy allies, prepare to launch an invasion that will destroy us. We have heard of your power, your weapons that crack mountains and summon fire from the sky. We have journeyed far to ask for your aid." 

As Aerindral stepped forward to address the Soviet officer, his entourage whispered behind him. 

"They wear no armour, yet they wield such confidence. Are their weapons that powerful?" Caelith asked skeptically. 

"Look at their machine. It flies without wings, powered by neither magic nor wind. They have harnessed something entirely new. Perhaps even beyond our comprehension." 

Some frowned, as they felt there was no magic on these soldiers, their pride wounded. "They are but men. They bleed as we do. Do not give them more credit than they deserve." 

"Perhaps," Caelith said softly. "But remember, it is their fire that turned the orc hordes to ash. We must tread carefully." 

Aerindral negotiation with the Soviets went well, as the Soviets gestured for the elves to board the helicopter, Aerindral turned to his people. 

"I know you have doubts," he began, his voice steady. "You have seen what they are capable of, and you fear it. So do I. But if we are to survive the onslaught of the orcs, we must put aside our pride. These men, who were called Soviets, maybe the key to saving our lands. We owe it to our people to try." 

With that, he stepped onto the helicopter, his posture regal and unyielding. The elves followed, their unease tempered by their prince's unwavering determination. 

As the helicopter lifted off, carrying them toward an uncertain alliance, Aerindral gazed out the window, his silver eyes fixed on the distant plumes of smoke from Soviet artillery. 

"May the stars guide us," he whispered, clutching the hilt of his sword tightly.

As the helicopter carries them deeper into Soviet territory, Caesith sends Aerindral a voice in his mind. "Do you think they'll help us?" 

Aerindral strokes his beard thoughtfully. "They've got the firepower, that's certain. The question is, what will they want in return? Men don't fight for free, not even these Soviets." 

Caesith nods, his expression hardening. "Then we'll offer what we must. Our survival depends on it."