Everything was normal, another day in the endless war. Not good, mind you, but normal. The dragon skin burned hot beneath their legs as they ducked, dived, sprayed flame from their flamethrowers when they had the chance and they could do it without risking their dragon's delicate wings. The smell of brimstone filled the air, from the sacks of fuel slung over the sides of their dragons and the smoke odor that filled the sky and tinted it yellow. The clouds were dark and gray, the skies were yellow, and the battle was eternal and unchanging, or so it seemed to them. Somewhere there were general plotting, planning, making changes. To the men and women in the sky, it felt like nothing ever changed.


Inspiration:
Picture of WWII-geared dragons fighting fighter planes: https://magazine.artstation.com/2018/09/focal-point/
Story potential: Medium
Notes: From the point of view of the fantasy folk who suddenly have contemporary technology infringe.