Ashes of Harborfall

Well.

It appears the Horde has requested equal air time.

After weeks of solemn retrospectives, mournful dockside ballads, and several extremely dramatic cork-based metaphors, we are proud — and mildly concerned — to present something new: A victory anthem.

Yes. From their perspective.

“Ashes of Harborfall” is what happens when you give a conquering war band access to percussion, questionable confidence, and far too much narrative freedom. It celebrates the fall of Harborfall, the burning of the Blue Marlin, the sinking of ships, and — rather boldly — their belief that they’ve won.

Mostly.

Because even in triumph, they can’t quite shake one uncomfortable truth:

Lasherbob is still out there.

And apparently cork-based maritime sorcery has left a lasting impression.

This piece captures that delicious contradiction — swagger layered over paranoia, celebration underscored by dread. They may have torched the tavern. They may have claimed the docks. They may have sent ships to the bottom of the sea.

But they are absolutely not sleeping well.

So turn the drums up.Enjoy the smoke and bravado.And listen carefully to the moments where their confidence wavers.

Because nothing says “total victory” quite like a chorus that keeps glancing nervously toward the tide.

Presenting:

Ashes of Harborfall —as sung by the Horde.

We came at dawn with iron and flame,

No bells were rung, no warning came,

Harborfall slept in salt and pride,

By dusk the harbor burned with tide.

We split the docks, we crushed the piers,

We fed the smoke with merchant fears,

The sky went red, the gulls took flight,

We owned the shore before the night.

The Blue Marlin roared once bright—

Then folded in the firelight,

Its broken sign swung in the air

Before it fell to black despair. 

We took their gold.

We took their grain.

We left them nothing but the flame.

The ships we didn’t drag away

Lie cold beneath the choking bay,

Timbers cracked and masts undone,

Sleeping where no light will run.

We won the docks.

We won the quay.

Harborfall bowed down to we. 

But— 

There’s one whose name we do not shout.

One storm we haven’t drowned or routed. 

Lasherbob.

He wasn’t there when fire fell.

He slipped the net. He broke the spell.

And that is why our victory song

Has something slightly… wrong. 

We fear no knight.

We crush the brave.

We stack their steel in tidy graves.

But cork and bottle?

That quiet trick?

There’s something in it cold and thick. 

A cork can float.

A cork can wait.

A cork can turn the hand of fate.

We burned his tavern to the stone.

We claimed the docks. We took the throne. 

And yet—

 No horde-man sleeps without a blade

For debts like that are never paid.

So drink tonight.

And praise the day.

And boast of how we took the bay. 

But watch the tide.

And watch the fog. 

Because the sea still whispers—

Lasherbob.