Following suit after the woman, Brennen was taken aback - though more out of annoyance - as the water that rose to her knees reached his torso, making his gait slow and unseemly. The Bog had only a few places where the fetid water reached any higher than one's ankles, but the Pyromancers knew to steer clear. Magics had a profound impact not only on their wielder, but on the environment as well. Places shaped, twisted by years of exposure to the mystical forces that lay just beneath the surface of the temporal. Though the Pyromancers stood as steadfast guards within the Bog for centuries, just outside their borders, covens of witches, necromancers, and would-be-warlocks practiced their foul 'arts', irrevocably tainting the land.

Struggling to find a foothold in the frigid, flowing waters, Brennen briefly regretted finding his gear in the Goblin's camp, as the hatchet at his hip felt like a hunk of raw lead only further weighing him down. Eyes peeled just beneath the surface of the river, Brennen kept his arms up as much as he could, in case someone...or something intended to engage them. 

Spotting something bright and orange out of the corner of his eye, Brennen did not hesitate, letting out a hiss through grit teeth as he shot a bolt of fire towards its direction in the river. Though dissipating as quickly as it had appeared, the fire displaced the water, leaving naught but steam in its wake. 

He looked up at Vah'lux somewhat sheepishly, perhaps thinking his reaction was a tad overzealous. But given the situation they were currently in, a healthy paranoia was, perhaps, a necessity.