A shouted word, and three beams of searing heat and light erupt from the wand tip. Painful to look at, the beams arc through the air and converge on the guard, who has time for an anguished scream before he erupts into flame. The other guards look on in horror as the dwarf's nonflammable possessions clank to the pavement, ashes spilling out of the red-hot armor.
A shared look passes between the guards, and they gradually lower their weapons. One says, taking a wary step back, "Alright, you win. Just...just let us go, alright? Two silver an hour isn't worth getting burned alive."