The cursed man saw them... heard their shouting voices. The dragon had landed in the midst of what appeared to be some sort of group. He could not count for he was unsure he had seen them all, but at least two were visible. One was draped in the color of blood, and was quick and appeared lithe, the other he saw wore cloth of darker hues, blue and purple, both were small to him, and both felt of magic... Though the red only slightly so. Their spirits though, they were something else, each a powerful soul, with purpose well known... they were no mere wanderers... Though the blades in the red ones hands told him as much. But it mattered little... as soon as the beast was slain they would run... or more likely fight the ghostly form of the knight... and again he would be forced to slay or retreat... bug another power was felt. One he knew... but knew not how he knew of it... or what part of him knew of it, though it was there... and it was very powerful.

That was to be dealt with later, for now the dragon bared it's teeth and fire flew from its maw. The swordsman charged, his form pierced with arrows to ancient to ponder and broken blades rusting and rotting, trundled up to the beast in a slow, heavy run. As he closed the spectre hefted his great sword with his one arm, bringing it down across the dragons leg as its attention was pulled elsewhere. The beast roared as again it's soul felt cut, and it batted the offending party away with its clawed foot. The spectre flew a short distance, to heavier than his size could portray... the wait of his sins dragging him back to the ground. He stood as a gout of flame washed over him... but as it cleared it had served only to bring him to his knee, as his spirit weathered the blaze his physical form could not...