In rode Clinkz, Lord of Safelane. A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair. In rode the Lord of 55% winrate, under the archway that no enemy ever yet had passed, and all fled before his face.
All save one. There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Ancient, sat RTZ upon a cliff: RTZ who alone among the pros still had not won a major. Unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dínen.
"You cannot enter here," said Artour, and the huge shadow halted. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master. Go!"
The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! he had a kingly crown; and yet upon no brain visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter.
"Old fool!" he said. "Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know balance(tm) when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!" And with that he lifted high his Daedalus and crits ran down the blade.
And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the city, a Phoenix crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of war nor of wizardry, welcoming only the patchnotes that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.
And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns, in dark Mindolluin's sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the Nerf, wildly blowing.
Icefrog had come at last.