“Your pace is all off.” A gruff voice emitted from an equally gruff looking woman, her arms moving like clockwork in repetitive motions as she worked through the field.
“Nagging, that’s all I get from you. Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag!” Her companion replied, punctuating each ‘nag’ with an overarm swing. “Is there ever a day I don’t get ‘your pace is off’, or ‘not like that’?”
“I wouldn’t have to say it if you learned.” She snarled, sweat glistening on her forehead from her exertions. Her muscles bunched up with each heft of her tool, a natural rhythm flowing through her form. More than could be said for the man flailing about to her right.
“Maybe I just have a different technique to you?” He huffed. Breath came quickly for him, his clothing rather sodden with sweat in varying places.
“Sloppy, over-exerting motions is not technique. It is poor form.” She snipped, not breaking her stride as she waded her way over to assist him. “Use the momentum, get into a natural beat. I can’t help you forever.”
Gritting his teeth, he fell into line with her teachings, working forwards to a beat of four. The trade came easier, as it always did. It never felt dramatic enough though. With a last swing of his hammer, the final skeleton’s skull shattered. The magic that had animated it was concentrated in the cavity where the brain once existed. With it broken, so was the dark necromancy that raised it.
“There, better?” He asked, puffing his chest out as he caught his breath.
“Yes. Now, don’t backslide, and don’t idle. We have much work to do to cleanse this land, Squire.” She slapped his shoulder with a mail-clad hand, her mace hung from her belt already.
He turned from his mentor to survey the piles of bones they had left. “At least the bone meal will help the ground, right?”
“We can only hope. Our land needs all the help it can.”
Author’s note: Three Word Wednesday inspired. The words were Pace, Idle and Nagging.