Steam bellowed from the elbow joint of the hulking monstrosity. Sitting with it's armpits hooked, the machine bore the shape of a brutish man with large broad shoulders, and a sunken wide skull whose neck had been swallowed by clavicles, twenty feet tall when operated and fully erect, the mechanized suit of armor was a brilliant invention. Tanned leather wrapped around sheets of mythril that formed the major portions of plating, hempen pipes weaved in and out from the gauntlets up to the pauldrons, and the same for the sabatons to the grieves, and up through to the legs before disappearing into the sides where the cuirass pieces met. Decorative copper sewn into the leather often fogged when the hiss of the steam became audible, and the gemstones pounded into the alloys dazzled in the light from the moisture as the steam dissipated.
Mac sat in the belly of the mechanical beast, pulling levers and adjusting wooden knobs that were connected to intricate collections of semi-exposed gears and pulleys lining the inside of the machine’s stomach.
“Damnit Mac! You blew another line! I told you the pressure was too much.”