Artman finished taking the last chip out of the shoulder of his wooden puppet. Inspecting the joint socket, he noted a few areas that needed smoothing and reached for his chisel, then thought against that and instead grabbed a smaller tool instead. The flaw wasn't that big, just a bit of an uneven surface, easily smoothed over.

He checked his measurements once again and began tracing out the lines of power that would form the meridian control patterns across the frame of the chest. Starting where the heart would be, and radiating outwards. Each line represented a vein or nerve ending that would connect to the "muscles" of the puppet later on, a different pattern that would be placed over top of this one.

This first cartographic mapping would be done in an ink rendered in in blue stain, which of course contained the critical silver ink, a touch thicker than what he would use in drafting the muscle fibers. Those paints were composed of bright cinnabar paints. Rather than doing everything in silver, which he found, caused interference issues that inhibited fine movement. because of the closeness of the lines interacting with each other. The Cinnabar would have a slightly higher resistance compared to the silver, but it was negligible as a tradeoff between the force of the arm and its responsiveness. He hoped switching between the two substances would insulate them against each other's influence.

Pnuema was still Pnuema, the only difference was the meridian lines would be conveying slightly hotter Pnuema than the Cinnabar. Though he'd often toyed with the idea of switching the pair if need be. Though such an experiment might prove too costly, he could still hear the sounds of his early puppets shattering themselves because he applied to much force all of a suddenly. An eye-opening experience for sure.

He applied the small brush, no bigger than a few small hairs dipped in the crucial ink and made the first marks.

A disastrous clap upon the door caused his hand to slip as he cursed a small bit. He cleaned his hand off and stood with a slight growl, whomever was bothering him had better be important or desperately urgent. Such as an Officer come to tell him his house was ablaze, or that war had broken out. Instead he opened the door and was disappointed to find San German standing, or should I say Filling, the doorway.

"Ahh, Artman my good soul, how goes the work? is the new model finished yet?" he asked with a cheery smile as he came into the workshop. Artman sighed to himself and stood up from the table, setting the brush aside in order to greet his guest.

"Yes, San German, I didn't realize you were stopping by." Artman said with mild surprise and disappointment.

"Ah, well I just wanted to see how you are coming along, I'm also wondering if you couldn't make a few, minor changes." The wide man said, stepping through the doorway and leering towards the wooden torso on the bench. He was about to put his fingers on the lines Artman had just painted when the magician caught his hand.

"Pardon but release my hand!" San German intoned.

"I'm sorry, sir, but those lines are such delicate work, and I wouldn't want them smudged at this time." Artman spoke cleanly, San German blinked then settled himself. "Oh, yes, of course. apologies, I hadn't realized." he rubbed his cuff slightly, as if expecting a bruise from such a light grip.

"Have the new inks suited you well then? I'm paying a small fortune for these already, the silver is costly, but the cinnabar is by far the worst. Couldn't the work be done in simpler inks?" He expressed some limited urgency while glaring at the carved figure piece.

"Afraid not, Silver and Mercury are necessary to the construction. Both here in the Meridians and for setting the internal balances. That and I can't have the two force patterns interfering with each other at this stage."

"But your original model only used the Silver ink, why should this be different?" San German asked, Artman sighed a bit.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Because I'm taking the time to improve the subtle movements of the figure, When I've finished the improvements to its finer movements, I'll place a wood varnish to separate the two layers and begin painting on the lines for the Transposition Charms." He simply stated.

"Ah yes, of course." his patron coughed. "Ah, how complete is the illusion?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I ah, well. I've never seen it in person so I was wondering if the feel of the illusion was-" he seemed to blush a moment before continuing to speak. "Solid."

"Pardon?" Artman quipped

"Do the illusions, capture the physical sense. Say, of touch or smell? is the Illusion complete in that function?" The absurd question hung in the air a moment and Artman struggled to comprehend what the ruddy tomato of a man was saying. He eventually came to answer that, he felt confident would satisfy the man's request.

"That would be a very complicated magic indeed sir, to my knowledge. I've been using a special brand of Optic's and Mirror magic to transmit the reflections and backscatter image of a person and then drape it over the Wooden Man. What you're asking me to do, well, I've never seen a magician do anything like it before. In a sense I would need to recreate the nose and skin with some magic intermediary, just as I have used the Mirror and glass to recreate the Eye and the sight it brings. I would need, very specific tools to attempt such a thing." Artman explained as simply as he could, without delving into the insane intricates of build said replica sensor organs. The Eyes alone had cost him three years to get right, let alone what simulating a brand-new sense would cost at this stage.

"I see, what sort of tools? If I may be so bold?" San German asked, undaunted. Artman gave a scoffing chuckle of disbelief.

"Well, um. I'm not sure. And frankly, I have to discount such notions. I'm barely through building the torso, the legs and arms will need assembly and that's not to speak of the hands. Such a lengthy change would delay my delivery by, almost a year at least or a decade at most. Building a new sense is difficult, and so is finding the right magic to replicate those sensation in the Wooden Man over a distance." Artman gave himself a pause to consider a few scarce ideas then discarded them almost immediately.

"Honestly, it's far too early to be asking these questions. I'd have to have some time to think on it, this is no small thing to ask Mr. German. And as to if the illusion could be solid." Artman threw his hand in the air.

"they're called illusions for a reason Mr.German, Conjuration has been left in the dustbin of superstition a long time ago. One cannot snatch something from Nothing. Such would be a miracle and the territory of God himself. Should he be so inclined to tell me about his secret on the matter I will sorely reconsider the matter. But until then, in no uncertain terms, No."

The look on San Germans face fell in disappointment for a moment before he smiled again "My apologies for wasting your time then sir, I was merely curious. But should you change your mind on the matter, I'm sure we can discuss it. I'll be off now; I'm told there is business to attend to. Good day Magician Wolfram. I'll see you later." The round man waddled off and Artman slumped into his work stool at the moment the door slammed shut.

"God give me strength." he muttered as he reached past the brush on the table and towards the book, he'd propped open for reference. He turned the pages a few times and glance at a diagram he found unfamiliar in this manual. That of the skull, focused on the sinuses and nasal cavity. Then he scoffed and turned back to the page he'd been referencing before.

"Smells, pah, Solid illusions. What does he think I am. Some bumpkin finding his Breath for the first time, or an all-knowing power like some spirit to be tricked into performing impossible favors. Replicating those sensations in illusion form would take years. Decades, maybe, Time I can't afford. Hells, It might take that long to prove it impossible. And then. Where would I fit all of it on my Wooden Man? It's far beyond the scope I planned, and well beyond my talents to provide."

A flask pulled itself from under his jacket and lay down on the table, the warm air of Artman's Pneumatic powers wrapped around it like a velvet glove. He chuckled to himself a little. He tried to hesitate from such juvenile displays, but he allowed himself this one time. Taking a swig of his favorite brandy inside, he let the warm sweet fire fill him for a moment before clearing his throat and getting back to work.

As he did, he idly wondered what Maven was doing, her behavior was always puzzling to him, but for a many that surround himself with women on occasion, he'd never given them much thought. He forgotten as many beauties as he'd seen, but Maven. She stuck to him for some reason. It could be the eyes, he fondly remembered another with those same vulpine eyes. Bright blues instead of gray.

He shook himself of the memories. He would play the Magpies game later. For now, he had work to do.