Geralt and Augustine - Justice and War by bbbeto on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

Geralt of Rivia stepped out of the shimmering void, the space-time portal that had become his relentless and unwelcome companion. His boots hit the dusty cobblestone streets of a world untouched by the ravages of time. He found himself in the bustling city of Hippo, nestled in the north coast of ancient Roman Numidia. The cacophony of the marketplace assaulted his ears, a pattern of voices and the clanging of metal, as merchants peddled their wares and children played games of tag. The scent of roasting meats mingled with the sharp tang of spices and the earthy scent of livestock.

In the midst of the chaos, a disturbing scene unfolded. A burly man, his face twisted in rage, had a woman pinned against the side of a building. His fists were raised, ready to rain down upon her. Geralt's instincts took over. He moved swiftly, his swords drawn, a silent sentinel of justice. The man's eyes widened in surprise as the Witcher inserted himself between the aggressor and his victim. With a few deft movements, Geralt immobilized the brute, his movements a blur of steel and leather. The woman slumped to the ground, her eyes filled with relief and fear.

The sudden commotion drew a crowd, their whispers of astonishment growing to a murmur as they recognized the man as one of their own. The murmur grew to a crescendo as a figure of authority emerged from the throng. It was a bishop, his robes a stark contrast to the grime of the streets. His name was Augustine, and his very presence seemed to command respect. He chastised the man, his voice firm yet filled with compassion for the woman on the ground. The crowd parted for him like the sea before Moses, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them.

Augustine took in the sight of the mysterious stranger who had intervened. He could see the question in the Witcher's eyes, the silent inquiry about what had just unfolded. The bishop stepped forward, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What is your name, sir?" he asked first, his eyes scanning Geralt from head to toe. The crowd hushed, eager to hear the stranger's reply. "I am Geralt of Rivia," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand battles. "And what brings you to our city, Geralt?"

The man who had been restrained by Geralt looked up, his expression a mix of anger and humiliation. "She is my wife!" he bellowed. "I can do as I please with her!" Augustine's gaze grew stern. "No man has the right to raise a hand to a woman in anger," he declared, his voice resonating with authority. "Violence is not justified, not within the sacred bonds of marriage."

The crowd fell silent, their eyes flickering between the Witcher and the bishop. Augustine offered a handshake to Geralt, his eyes alight with an unspoken invitation. "Walk with me," he said. "We have much to discuss." And so, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the ancient city, the two men set off on a journey of words and ideas that would challenge the very fabric of their beliefs.

Their conversation meandered through the winding streets of Hippo, weaving through the grand Roman architecture and the more humble abodes of the city's inhabitants. Augustine spoke passionately about his faith, his belief in a divine order that governed the universe. He spoke of a God of love and mercy, but also of justice and retribution. "In a world where evil runs rampant," he said, "sometimes war is the only way to preserve the innocent."

Geralt listened, his mind racing with the implications of such a philosophy. He had seen wars, had fought in them, and knew firsthand the horrors they brought. "But who decides what is just?" he asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. "And what of those who die in these 'just' wars? Are they not also innocent?"

Augustine's eyes searched Geralt's, seeking understanding. "It is a complex matter," he conceded. "But consider this: if we do not fight to protect the weak, then are we not as guilty as those who prey upon them?"

The Witcher pondered the bishop's words as they strolled through a garden, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers. The peacefulness of the scene was a stark contrast to the chaos of the streets they had left behind. He knew all too well the cost of violence, the lives it claimed, and the scars it left on the soul. Yet, as they talked of the teachings of Jesus, of original sin, and the divine grace that could save or condemn, he couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity. Here was a man who believed in something so fiercely that it guided his every action.

"And what of fate?" Geralt asked, his gaze drifting to the heavens. "You speak of predestination. Does that not strip us of our free will?"

Augustine paused, a knowing smile playing upon his lips. "Ah, the eternal struggle," he mused. "We are all bound by the choices we make, and yet, we are also guided by forces beyond our understanding. Our free will is a gift from God, but it is a gift that comes with a heavy burden."

The two men walked in silence for a time, the only sound the distant tolling of a bell, echoing through the city. Geralt felt a kinship with Augustine, despite their differing beliefs. They were both men of the world, seeking to navigate the tumultuous seas of morality and justice.

As the shadows grew longer, Augustine spoke of his own journey, of the wars he had seen and the battles he had fought in the name of God. His eyes held a depth of sorrow that spoke of personal loss and pain. Geralt could see the weight of his convictions, the burden of his faith. He felt a strange respect for this man of the cloth, who could wield words as deftly as a sword.

Their conversation eventually turned to the nature of good and evil, and the existence of a higher power that shaped the course of their lives. Geralt spoke of his own travels through time and space, of the many worlds he had visited, and the suffering he had witnessed. "And yet," he said, "I have seen moments of such beauty and kindness, that I cannot believe in a universe without some form of order."

Augustine nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps," he suggested, "we are both searching for the same truth, but through different lenses."

As the evening grew cooler, they reached the city's outskirts, where the cobblestone streets gave way to dirt paths. The bishop's residence loomed in the distance, a bastion of peace in the fading light. Augustine looked at Geralt, his gaze searching. "You are a man of honor, Witcher," he said softly. "Lost, perhaps, but not without a moral compass. I pray that you find your way."

Geralt nodded, a small smile playing upon his lips. "As I suspect you do, bishop," he replied. "Thank you for your wisdom, and for listening to me instead of treating me as a mere sorcerer or something of that nature."

With a final handshake, the two men parted ways. Geralt made his way back to the alley where the space-time portal awaited, his thoughts a whirlwind of new perspectives. As he approached the shimmering gateway, he glanced back over his shoulder. Augustine had not followed, respecting the Witcher's need for solitude.

The bishop's words echoed in his mind as he stepped through the portal, the sensation of displacement washing over him. The cobblestone streets of Hippo gave way to the familiar yet ever-changing landscape of his curse. The colors and sounds of ancient Numidia faded into the ethereal whispers of the void. He felt a strange melancholy, a yearning for the simplicity of belief that Augustine had offered. Yet, he knew his path was not one of faith, but of action.

As the portal closed behind him, Geralt found himself in a new world, the scent of rain-soaked earth and the distant sound of a battle's aftermath. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited him. His journey through the ages had taught him that every world had its own darkness, its own wars to be fought, its own battles to be won.

In the quiet solitude of the new world, Geralt pondered the bishop's words. The concept of a just war was a seductive one, a belief that could easily be twisted to justify atrocities though. Yet, in the face of true evil, could there be any other choice? He thought of the woman he had saved, of the countless others who had suffered in the name of power and greed. Perhaps, in some twisted way, he was fighting a just war of his own, a solitary crusade to protect those who could not protect themselves.

The Witcher pushed aside his philosophical musings and set off into the unknown. His silver sword and steel resolve were his only companions as he ventured into the fog of war. He knew that in this new world, as in all the others, he would find those in need of his skills. And as he did, he would continue to ask the questions that had plagued him for centuries: What is justice? What is evil? And where does the line between them truly lie?

The story of Geralt of Rivia and his endless journey through the fabric of reality was far from over. Each new world brought with it new questions, new battles, and new souls to be saved or lost. Yet, through it all, he remained steadfast, a beacon of hope in the face of despair, a silent guardian of the innocent. His was a tale of valor and doubt, of redemption and loss, and of the eternal quest for meaning in a universe that often seemed devoid of it.