The ranger was ready for it, so when the boy went limp, he hoisted him into his arms. Ignoring Crowley in his haste, he looked around, mind racing to think of a solution. Mages were powerful, and he had no ability to fight them. If this one was dangerous, when he realized he'd been exposed, he'd be deadly. There had to be a way to stop him, to keep him from casting. But how to stop a man's thoughts. He knew from experience that mages only used props, herbs, sticks, and such things to help, and to make the spells easier. They didn't need them to cast the spell. It would be harder to do, but he was certain this child could kill him without moving a finger or speaking a word if he wanted to. A man ran by, laughing raucously and drinking from a bottle he'd obviously just stolen. It was nearly full.<br/><br/>"Perfect. YOU THERE!!" the ranger bellowed.<br/><br/>He accosted the poor guy. With a jab of his free hand, a kick to the shins, and a shove to the chest, the man was on the ground giggling, and the Ranger was hurrying off with the bottle in hand. He found an abandoned store not far away and went inside. The place was a disaster, but there was a storage room in the back that was relatively untouched.<br/><br/>Crowley followed him inside, spluttering unspoken objections. It was obvious the guy respected this child, but Jorman couldn't. Not yet.<br/><br/>"Get out of here, Crowley. Find whoever did this and bring them to me. Keep spreading those potions. Keep as many of your men as you can in their right minds. Send a team up to the pass gate and hold it. Tell them to do whatever they can do to seal it off. Send off a detonation if they have to, and create a landslide. Whatever they need to do to keep anyone from passing. We're going to be invaded. GO!"<br/><br/>He turned as he shouted the last word, ignoring whatever reaction Crowley might have given, and only dimly registered the thundering footsteps that announced his retreat. Pulling the kid's mask off, he tipped his head back. It struck him then, what he was doing. This was only a kid, and he had attacked him. Growling, he cast aside his guilt, and began pouring small mouthfulls at a time into the open mouth. As was natural, there was a great deal of spluttering. Most of what he allowed to trickle in, was promptly coughed back up, but he kept going. He poured as much as he could into the kid, persistently draining the bottle to be absolutely certain that he swallowed enough to intoxicate him heavily. No drunk could possibly concentrate hard enough to cast a spell. Nor could he convincingly lie.... which was precisely the point.<br/><br/>When he finished, he left the kid lying there, covered him with a blanket that he found on a shelf, and went to watch out the front door for any sign of crowly. He kept his ears trained on the sounds behind him, waiting to hear the kid come around.