Blame

“In short, your methods are crude, your ingredients suspect, and I question the source of your recipes.” Corvalor, the distinguished guest speaker from Baldur's Gate, a half elf in his late years, decreed. It wasn’t unexpected but the words still stung like a fire ant.
“Sir, I assure you they have worked before. I have never had someone helping me before. I must have not been clear enough” Ethyl said as he gestured to Wilmanric beside him. Wilmanric shifted smoothly away from the gnome a step and shook his head denying any fault, though the gesture was lost on his shorter cohort.
“I assure you, I attempted to follow your instructions as well as I could. It seems like you work with unfinished recipes and you experiment on your subjects as you go to determine the effectiveness.” His study partner said to separate himself from any blame, and placing Ethyl square in the path of the teacher as a Cow before a Bullet having just sprung forth from below the ground.
Ethyl turned on his partner with a bluster of words. “Wilmanric, I explained to you that you have to take into account the purity of the sample, not to mention the age and ensure that the ratio is in accordance. Not to mention you aren’t accounting for the influence of the elemental spirits within the area that you pull the base samples for. You can’t think that a dragon who defuses its essence into the land isn’t going to have a lasting effect. Let alone the magic in the land before that. It’s just going to compound the problem like I said it would. You…uhg” his hands were thrown up in exasperation as Wilmanric looked on as if withdrawn or indifferent. Color blossomed, filling the gnome's cheeks, his face turning into a frown as he measured his partner's face. Corvalor spoke from the desk again, “Eethyl, if you can’t take responsibility for your own craft then you will disgrace the name of the order. We can not have that. You must learn to adhere to the approved practices only. Research and experimentation are not permitted within the first rank. I will be voting with others on the board, from whom I have already heard grave concerns about your ideas on what is acceptable.”
Ethyl turned to face the half-elf. Corvalors elven heritage was showing through his set jaw line and aloof gaze. Ethyl sighs and shakes his head. Turning to Wilmanric “Even in your elder years you humans have barely lived long enough to have learned true wisdom.” He gestures at Corvalor, “You at least have spent enough time to rea…“ The half-elf cuts in “more time than you and more experience. You have no place to speak to me, young gnome.” The gnome's mouth opens as frustration pulses across his face. He arrests the retort about to escape his throat and meets the man's gaze. He turns to Wilmanric and his face relaxes slightly into disappointment. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out better between us.” Ethyl says with a bow of his head. He spits the last words out at Corvalor “The board has no reason to vote. I resign my candidacy. I will collect my positions and vacate the lab immediately.” After which he turns sharply on a heel and leaves the study.
…
Ethyl touches the pearl in his pocket, comforted by its cool touch.
“I’m sorry Ethyl. Can I help?” her voice comes in his mind.
“No, I'm sorry. I will figure another way. I’m not good at working with humans. It hardly seems worth the effort sometimes” his voice heavy with exhaustion and defeat.
“That’s what I used to say about gnomes…” her soft response comes.
A small laugh escapes him. “Thank you for being patient with me.”
He places the last leather tool roll into his bag and hoists it onto his shoulder, looking around the sleeping quarters and work space a last time. A couple moments later the latch for the door falls back into place and the room is left dark and silent.