Captain's log
Every storm we've weathered and every plank we've mended — newest first.
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Your first voyage now sets out on a Light Breeze.
Quick Play now casts off in a Light Breeze instead of a Stiff one: gentler fleets, a sturdier island, and room to learn your own coastline before the sea gets serious. Stiff Breeze and Hurricane are untouched and still one click away in the lobby — and when you carry a harbor through to victory, you will be offered the next weather up. Nobody is keeping you from the rough stuff; you just are not thrown into it on your first crossing.
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No more guessing — your defenses finally show their work.
Every raider that takes a hit now flinches, and the wounded ones carry a slim bar above them, so you can finally tell a tower that is working from one that is merely loud. The coin comes out of hiding too: the wave's pay is announced when it lands, and the button that calls the next wave shows the bonus you would pocket for being brave early. Each defense card now says plainly whether it is strong or weak against light hulls and armored ones — and on a phone, the first tap shows the ghost and its reach, so you place a tower on purpose instead of on faith. A quiet mark in the corner tells you when the line to the harbor is still being tied.
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The raiders march for real — and the storm finally acts like one.
First you got real hulls, then proper stone footings. Now the whole board moves. Your attackers stop gliding ashore like chess pieces: Stone Throwers, Spearmen and Plunderers walk in on their own two legs, and a raider caught in your maze visibly stops walking instead of sliding on the spot. Out in the bay the ships roll with the swell, the surf breaks in white streaks along the wave crests instead of drifting in pale clouds, and grass, rock and sand are cut like crystal where they used to blur. Above it all your tower banners snap, palms lean into the wind and gulls drift past. And the storm is finally a storm — slanting rain, lightning that throws the whole coast into a heartbeat of daylight, and spray bursting over your quay wall.
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Your harbor hardens to stone — the shore answers the fleet.
Last storm the raiders got real hulls — now your coast rises to meet them: your cliff archers and ballista crews stand on true stone footings that climb a storey with every upgrade, crowned by a battlement walk at full height. Your harbor barricade thickens into a weathered bastion wall, and out in the straits the tide dam is honest rubble and capstones now, warning-posts and all. The whole island is busier too — piers along the quay, more palm and rock, crates and barrels stacked by the water — and every shot now leaps from the weapon platform where it belongs, not the stone beneath it.
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A proper fleet at last — real hulls, full sails, and wake.
The ships bearing down on your harbor are rough shapes no longer — every raider now sails as a real vessel, canvas full and silhouette sharp against the storm. Landing boats ride in low and crowded with boarding crews, while the enemy flagship cuts a lone black hull beneath blood-red flags. Watch each ship carve a wake across the water, and the surf break white where the tide meets your shore.
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New teeth for the wall — trip 'em, hook 'em, burn 'em.
Three new defenses join your build menu, in harbor and plunder alike: a Tripwire that lies flat on the path and sends raiders sprawling — one stumble apiece before they wise up; an Anchor Winch that casts a boarding hook to haul a single raider back down the lane — one hook per raider, then the line snaps; and a Flamethrower that drowns the killing ground in burning pitch that clings long after the flame dies. Upgrade your Pitch Kettle to the hilt and it now sinks into a glowing Lava Pit — same bite, fiercer glow. Designed by the harbor's youngest naval engineers.
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Set sail in a single click — and find your feet fast.
The big button on the landing now raises a harbor and drops you straight into the fight — one click, no forms to fill. Sailing solo? Just give the order to cast off; you no longer wait on your own ready-call. And captains on their very first voyage get a warm welcome and a few gentle nudges to learn the ropes.
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Your battle, remembered — and ready to share.
When the storm settles, the result card now marks your best wave yet — a private high-water mark, for your eyes only. And a single tap copies a shareable link to your result, ready to pass along to whoever you like.
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The harbor finds its voice — and the fleets fan out to meet it.
Every defense now roars to life: build and upgrade, wave-horns, tsunami thunder and the clang of your guns — with a one-tap mute for quieter command. Enemy fleets now sweep in from a spread of angles instead of a single file, so you can read the shape of each assault at a glance. And captains sailing their very first battle get a few gentle pointers to find their feet.
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Keep a captain's log — your battles, remembered.
Your landing now carries a private Captain's Log, appearing once you've weathered your first storm. It quietly keeps your tally of battles fought, victories won, and the highest wave you've held — for your eyes only, no leaderboards, no pressure.
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The Tide Straits are re-charted — dam the drowned peaks.
The old channel is gone. The Tide Straits now thread between a scattered chain of drowned mountaintops, each shoal a fresh choke-point to wall off, ending at a true anchor bay carved into your home shore. Watch the gyre, too: the current sweeps the fleets inward toward the bay, then circles back out along the rim. And if you dam a strait but the enemy just slips through the next one, the tide will say as much — seal another channel to force the detour.
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Tide Straits arrives — dam the shoals, ride the current.
Rally up to three other wardens and hold a brand-new archipelago front, where the fleets never make landfall — they run the tidal channels straight for your anchor bay, and a dam dropped on the right shoal can choke a current dead. Meanwhile, back in your home harbor, an upgrade you can't yet afford now shows itself locked instead of just shrugging you off, your own towers fly a proud gold pennant, and any teammate's tower will tell you who built it. The front page also welcomes its banner back.
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Your countdown to the storm is finally unmistakable.
The moment you start the storm, a bold countdown now fills the screen, so you always know exactly when the fighting begins. No more hunting for "Storm inbound" lost behind the lobby — it holds center stage until the first wave hits. Fair warning, sailor: there's no missing it now.
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The dockmaster starts keeping better logs.
Every coastal defense on the shelf now shows its punch and reach before a coin leaves your coffers, and a tap or click on any tower — new or already standing — digs up the rest: rate of fire, what it shrugs off, what the next rank buys. Plant one and a reach ring settles over the water so you always know what it can touch; give the next wave the same look and you'll have the raiders' toughness, speed, and cargo well before they're in range. Once the storm breaks, the results board now credits real damage dealt, and in Plunder War, a warship's sendoff tells you roughly how many waves until it earns its keep.
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The shipwrights and masons put in overtime.
Every coastal defense got a proper rebuild — quivers and shingled platforms for the archers, torsion arms on the ballistae, counterweights and wheels on the catapults, riveted kettles dripping tar — and each rank you buy now visibly grows the structure itself. The raiders answered in kind: their warships sail with full plank, shield, and stern-castle detail, and the Black Fleet's flagship finally flies the black sails it was always rumored to carry.
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Choose your course, then raise the harbor.
The front page now leads with one clear invitation: come aboard. Tap it and you'll choose your course — mode and weather, laid out plainly — before your harbor goes up. Joining a crew already underway stays exactly where it was, one code away.
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The sea keeps count.
The front page now shows how many battles have been fought on the open sea — an exact tally, growing one round at a time. Every storm that breaks adds to it, including yours.
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Steadier decks on small screens.
On phones the harbor HUD used to stack its readouts over one another mid-battle — island, wave, gold, the next-wave call and your crew now each hold their own line, clear to read. And in the lobby, "Start the storm" always stays within reach, however small the porthole. Fair winds to the deckhands on the go.
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Join a lobby at a glance — QR codes at the harbor gate.
Every lobby now shows a QR code beside the room code. A shipmate points a phone at it and they're aboard — no letters to read out across the room, no typos at the gate. The room code and copy button stay right where they were, for whoever prefers them.
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A bigger front door — and an honest eye on the harbor.
The front page now has one clear course: jump into a harbor already gathering a crew, or watch a battle already underway. When the sea's quiet, it simply invites you to raise the first harbor yourself — someone has to be the first sail on the horizon. Defend a public harbor and you'll feel it too: an honest, no-fuss count of who's watching, right there on your screen.
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Watch a live harbor battle — right from the front page.
The front page now shows harbor battles already in progress — pick one, click Watch, and follow the storm without lifting an oar. Liked what you saw? Raise your own harbor in one click, right from that same page. Both lists there — crews still wanted, harbors under siege — now keep themselves current, so you're never reading yesterday's tide.
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Plunder War arrives — a 1v1 duel for the harbor.
Take on a single rival across two mirror islands, riding out the very same storm. Spend gold to send raiders at their coast — every crew you launch raises your own income, so this is never just a defense game. Grab a room code, choose Plunder War from the front page, and see whose harbor falls first.
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Your match result is finally unmistakable.
Every match now ends with a bold Victory, Defeat, Draw, or Abandoned banner right at the top of the results — no more reading tea leaves in the poetry below. And if you sail in German, every last word in the harbor, from the shop to the storm banners, finally speaks your language.
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Open harbors, an open ear, and a running log of it all.
The front door now shows other open harbors waiting for a crew — join one with a click, or keep yours private if you'd rather sail alone. Log an idea, a bug, or a balance gripe on the new Feedback page, and once you've weathered a full match, your vote counts too. The home page also got a fresh coat of paint, and from here on, every change we make lands right here, in this very Captain's log.
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Upgrade orders reach your towers again.
The upgrade and sell buttons on the tower panel were shouting into the wind — clicks landed, but nothing happened. The crews have cleaned out their ears: upgrading and selling coastal defenses works again, and stray clicks on the panel no longer drop an accidental tower behind it.
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Your harbor just got a proper paint job.
Real cliffs, sand, and a rebuilt main house — timber walls, a red shingle roof, glowing windows, chimney smoke — now frame every match, and towers finally cast real shadows across the yard. Each of the five coastal defenses has its own new silhouette, so you can spot a Ballista Battery from a Pitch Kettle at a glance. Barrels, driftwood, and old nets litter the docks — the harbor finally looks worth defending.
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The First Storm breaks — the harbor is open.
Man the walls: TideWars drops you — solo or with a full crew — into a shared harbor standing against wave after wave of raiders, building to a clash with a black-sailed fleet. Step onto the battlefield straight away under a freshly minted sea-name — no account, no waiting. Raise your coastal defenses, pick your weather, and see if the harbor still stands when the tide turns.