You call your imp. An idea has come to you. "Do you and the sprite have some sort of poison that will paralyze or knock out people, if placed in their drink?"
It flutters its wings and nods. "Sure. Sprite's been mixing up all kind of crazy things, and I've been keeping his eye on the important stuff. It's all about the poisons."
"How much of it do you have? Enough for, say, drugging a round for everyone several taverns?"
The imp stares at you. "Uh... we'd probably need to make some more for that. Enough for one, maybe."
"Then get what you have, and tell the sprite to make more. I'll need it within the next few hours."
It nods, then takes off and flies away quickly. It seems to be taking this job fairly seriously; that's something.
It doesn't take very long before the imp returns, winking into visibility hauling a large leather pouch. You find yourself wondering where it got the pouch, but resolve to worry about that sort of thing when it's not being incredibly helpful. It waves. "Got the stuff. A little sprinkle, should knock over most people in minutes."
You nod. "Good. It should be obvious enough when to use it."
With that, you turn and go looking for a tavern. In this end of the town, they're mostly the seedy types, but you don't mind that; those are less likely to call the guards, anyway. You duck into one, attracting a few stares for your scars but not as many as you'd have thought.
You drift over to the bar and seat yourself; the bartender slides over. He's an aging, ugly man, but his smile is remarkably friendly. "What're you for, miss? Look like you could use something hard."
You can't help but chuckle. You only wish that you could get drunk, but it seems appropriate. "Sure, give me a round of whatever you think I should get. And what the hell, get everyone else one, too." You toss several gold coins onto the table; that should more than cover the fifteen or so people in here.