(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

at the patrons, his threats of arrest impotent against the steadily growing
chaos in the tavern. Several barmaids join in the fray, clubbing the enraged
dwarf with their trays and pelting him with nearby mugs. Futile endeavors to
say the least.
Disarmed but still full of spitfire and vinegar, G'mir rips off the leg from the
nearby table, clubbing anyone foolish enough to venture close enough. A
black-clad rogue that was attempting to sneak behind him is tossed two
tables over. A barmaid is caught across the jaw by the makeshift club. A
bespectacled cacodemon takes it in the shin as the pot of mint tea and plate
of strawberry scones he had been enjoying crash to the floor as the table
collapses.
With the way cleared, G'mir clambers up onto the stage even as a tiefling
and several other planars grab at his stubby little legs.
Taking a step back, Scii-tavakis calmly places two fingers to her temple just
as the maddened dwarf finishes pulling his plump little body over the edge.
The elf focuses.
The pale bolt of light that shoots from her forehead was an almost placid
azure. It strikes G'mir squarely in the head and with a soft cracking sound he
falls back like a limp, overcooked noodle, collapsing against the
bespectacled demon as he sobs over his fallen tray. The tussle resolved, a
dreadful hush falls across the crowd.
"Well," the elf's tanned, leathery face pulls into a wry smile, "I didn't think
I'd have to use that trick again."
Mikon's face has grown to be nearly as red as his armor. Sweating and
furious, he bellows, "You are all under arrest!"
The three hundred or so planars that crowded around him stare,
unimpressed. A few chuckles arise from those on the second tier of the
tavern.
Shara Six Blades' voice is cold and razor-edged, "On whose authority?"
"Mine! On the order of the Harmonium I hereby place everyone in this bar
under arrest until the matter can be resolved, and that includes you, tavern
wench!"
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