Twenty Fifth day of the first month

The mist looks very romantic in this place. High in the mountains it swirls and heaves like this living, breathing thing that slides past you noiselessly. It dives away from the ankles of the storm giants that go stomping fast, shaking the earth and stones. And it hangs like a curtain between the pines, as if they were shy and trying to clothe themselves modestly against our prying, Southern eyes.
It seems very romantic. Anywhere else in Azeroth, it would seem romantic, even mystic. But not here in this chilled place. As with everything else in this place, it has a hidden face beneath a mask of serene, still beauty.
Twice now I have gone in to the mists, thinking to scour the beach and look for items washed up on the shore, and twice now I have been horribly surprised by the large, angry beast-men waiting there. Not quite the Kvaldir, when they die their body dissolves in to fetid seawater and rotting, twined seaweed. It's puzzling such solid flesh could come from such strange substances.
They wield strange magics, not quite arcane, not quite frost. They seem to have the same division as most peoples, between those that wield those magics and those that practice the martial arts -mostly with spears it would seem. They are large, covered in hair with long bears and topknots, and I do not see a single female among them. Perhaps there are villages beyond the horizon where they stay behind and these are raiders of some sort, but it would seem from what I have seen that there are only males among these... things.
They attack any one and anything on sight, which is thankfully hampered by the mist just as much as my own is. It's possible to melt in to it and fade out for a bit, at which time they give up and return to whatever they were doing before I stumbled upon them. It's as if they accept it's a confusing environment, and just go with it.
They are a vicious race, whatever they are. Their language is unintelligible, and none of them has given me the opportunity to try and talk to them, simply attacking relentlessly until I flee or take them down. The usual heartsick feeling I get when taking down another sentient being has fled in the face of their aggressiveness. These are not men the way that I know men. But then... everything here is beyond my knowing, it would seem.
The naga asked for my help when I stumbled upon them in the mist as well. These things had been slaughtering their people as with any others they came across. I couldn't help but remember the angry screams of their kind in the Outlands when my clan breached the Serpentshrine. Apparently news doesn't travel via the underground streams they talk of, as they simply wanted help. They asked me to retrieve a spear and go kill a giant fish.
Well... I haven't done it yet. It's deep water, and at the risk of sounding like less than a champion of the Horde, it is freaking COLD. My people are tropical, and the fact that we aren't dying off from frostbite is amazing.
I suppose I'll go fishing. After investing in some very, very thick oiled wool. In the meantime, I am staying clear of the mists. Those things that hide in them are cruel and evil, and have ruined my taste for the storm, the fog, and for now my favorite place of meditation, my familiar retreat of the surf and the beach.