One day, standing on the shore of a fitful sea, I felt the presence of an old forgotten god. The rough waters invoked the latent memory of those primal, violent gods; the gods who made their anger known. The rise and fall of each wave and the ebb and flow of the salty water proved a testament of their everlasting power. If you listened closely to the breeze and the subtle voice hidden within the sound of the splashing waves, the call of old Njord could be heard— the call to set aside all trepidation and set sail out into the cold unknown.