Polar Opposites

Boon smirks behind his collar, quite amused by Sabutor's poor reaction to being displaced. "Technically, yes," he replies, offering the mage his outstretched arm to use as leverage, if he so needed. "But you get used to it."

The pair would find themselves standing in the center of a large, circular room, which was cluttered to the brim with a wide assortment of magic paraphernalia; so much so that it would be hard to walk even a few feet without accidentally knocking a shin against some misplaced object. Dusty, leather-bound tomes lined the twisted wood book-shelves and work tables, and a colourful array of vials and jars were dispersed at random throughout the space, their contents undefinable. Clocks, and tiny clockwork creations ticked away relentlessly, creating an eerie, automated symphony. At the center of the room, there was a spiraling staircase, that led to both the upper and lower portions of the tower. It appeared to be late afternoon, judging by the golden sunlight that filtered in through the enormous clock-face window, situated at the west facing wall. Generally, the room was a mess, but the mess was comfort to Boon, and it was where he worked and studied dutifully.