Chapter Text
Coën kept his sword up, he had to continue to practice. He sliced and slammed his sword into the nearest man made of hay. Coën smiled wide as his sword sliced it in half, he needed to continue to practice. He was the last of the Griffin school so he needed to continue to prove himself as one of the best. He readjusted his emblem and continued to practice. He knew very well that Geralt was one of the better Witchers, but he also knew that Lambert had him beat very often. Coën placed his sword into the sheath, climbed the rope ladder and began to do the practice. His body twisted as he jumped from one beam to the next, as he jumped over a third beam he pulled his sword out from the sheath quickly and sliced the head off the wooden dragon before him. He smiled as he watched it fall to the ground, he wished he could fly like the mighty beast his school cared about. He climbed down, smiling wide, he was extremely prideful. He knew what he could do, he knew what he was capable of. He wanted to prove himself to the others.
Walking into the great room he sat amongst the others, they were sharing mead and stories of their trials. “Are you planning on going out anytime soon Coën?” Lambert asked as he raised his boar's leg, a huge bite taken out of the side.
“I do plan too, I heard of a little town not too far away that is in need of help.”
“Good,” Geralt said, slapping his back, mead sloshing out of his cup. “We must get our Griffin out there again.”
Coën smiled wide, he was pleased about how willing his ‘brothers’ were about helping him get out there. After their meal Coën went off to sleep. That morning Coën got a bag packed, stepped out to the main room saying goodbye to his ‘brothers’ and headed out the door. He made his way to the stables and spotted the gray speckled steed. He placed his bags onto the saddle before climbing on. “Let’s go.” Coën stated softly, he was ready to prove himself and his school to all of those who were in need of help but just as well as those who didn’t know of him.
The Griffin school would stay alive with Coën at the helm.
Making his way into the town he jumped off the horse and led it towards the town center. A few people gave him odd looks, Coën wasn’t as big or tall as most Witchers but people could tell exactly what he was as soon as he stepped foot into the Tavern. “You were for work?” The bar keep asked as he passed him an ale.
“I am.” Coën remarked. “Do you know where I can get some?”
“Aye.”
Coën grinned widely. He was excited about the prospect of this. He wanted to both prove himself but help anyone who needed it. “Is it you that has the problem or someone you can get me into contact with?”
“The whole town Witcher, do you think you can take this task on?”
“I do.”
The man nodded. “On the house then, but if you fail you best pay me back.” Coën nodded, taking a swig of the drink, he then listened to the tale of the town's strife. “We have a spirit problem.”
“Ghosts?” Coën asked, almost disbelieving.
“It's true.”
“How so?”
“Long ago there was a sickness that fell upon the town, we nearly lost everyone. People were being burnt or buried on top of one another to ensure that the sick didn’t continue. We think that the people who died are restless, angry we didn’t give them markers.”
Coën was willing to do what he needed to help these people but he didn’t know if he fully believed it.