The reason why he'd chosen his current body was clear enough, yes. The rest, however... Foulques' frown deepened. "I understand why choosing such a body as you currently have was a wise decision," he said. "What I don't understand is how a... 'poppet', you called it?... is given life at all. You speak of transferring a soul from one body to another as if it were no more complex than repotting a plant. A soul is bound to a body at birth, and so far as I'm aware, can only be unbound from it in a single and rather permanent fashion upon death."

"And how would one give life to such a being when creating one from the beginning? Don't tell me your people can create souls at will? Or do they perhaps simply pull them from the aetherial sea? ...And I say 'simply' as if plucking a soul from the aether is any less remarkable. Or as if creating someone a living child out of wood would be considered anything more than a children's tale in my own world. I know the Timbermaster would likely give his left arm for such a gift, if he didn't declare the idea utterly mad at first pass."