At St. Jordith's University there stands a sculpture that is often the subject of much discussion. Carved from marble, this statue resembles the naked form of an athletic man, bald as a baby, in a running position. Into his right shoulder, a hawk digs its talons, piercing his flesh. Into his left shoulder, a serpent sinks its fangs, with its coils wrapped around his throat. Barbed wire wraps around his ankles, leaving gouges nearly bone-deep. His face is racked in agony, but his eyes are focused straight ahead. He stretches his right hand out, as if reaching for something that's just outside his grasp.

The pedestal on which the statue stands displays a plaque with a single word written upon it.

"Peace."

Young Salgon chose the spot under this statue as his pacing place while he read from a dusty old tome with a split spine. The writing on the book's cover reads "The Dark Lord Cycle." There is no named author.

Salgon is a man of seventeen years. Tall, athletic, with dark hair in a messy mop atop his head. A small pair of reading glasses sit upon the end of his nose, and he gazes through the lenses with copper-colored eyes. He wears the uniform of his university; black robes with silver trim.

The rushlight he's prepared sits balanced on the statue's out-stretched fingers, providing him just enough glow to see the words on the page.

His boots click on the stone floor as he walks this way, then that, muttering the words of the book aloud to himself. His brow furrows with curiosity the longer he moves through the tome.