The Black Gate loomed above, like an obsidian scar across the land. The forces of light, arrayed in tight battle formation -- who seemed so mighty and invincible as they rode forth from Gondor -- clustered together, suddenly small and ragtag against such overwhelming black power and malignity.

Then came the sound -- the indescribable sound -- of those enormous gates creaking open. It was a gnashing of rust and steel that pierced the heart and shook the very earth. A litany of horrors poured forth: Orcs, Trolls, riders from the eastern lands, the black hands of hatred sent by Sauron to squeeze the life from the forces of light where they stood. They poured out from the gate, and they did not stop swarming forth. The allied forces of Men and Elves nocked their arrows, gripped their swords, and shifted in their saddles. This was not a fight that they could win. And yet, they had to fight it.

Because many miles away, across a desolate land, two noble hobbits had scaled to the peak of Mount Doom and were prepared to cast the source of Sauron's power within its fiery depths. The great malevolent eye of Sauron had to be distracted during this, their greatest hour of hope and fear!

Then the horns sounded, and the black horde charged. Armies clashed like waves on surf. Gleaming white towers of magic burst amidst the enemy, sending flaming orcs hurtling through the air ... yet more came. Wave after wave. All seemed lost--

Until at last the drama at Mount Doom unfurled, and the One Ring of unimaginable power plummeted into the depths! Suddenly the unblinking eye of Sauron turned to -- Trying to Restablish Connection.

"Wait -- what's all this!?" Gimli cried out.

Gandalf lowered his staff, his jaw slackening with shock and rage. "No..." he whispered.

Connection Lost.

At once, the armies of Sauron disappeared. "That little link whore!" screamed Aragorn. "He dropped his connection before our win registered."

Sauron was ranked just above the Forces of Light at 443 on the official ladder

Miles away, two ragged hobbits stared down into the fiery pit with crushing disappointment written on their faces. The One Ring hovered a few inches above the lava, unmoving. "Oh Mr. Frodo," sobbed Samwise. "How are we ever gonna move up in the ladder rankings now?"

The forces of light milled around, pissed. "That little..." grumbled Gimli the Dwarf. "If only I could meet that little punk in real life I'd wring his link-dead little neck..."

But distancing himself from his anger, Legolas the Elf flipped hungrily though a large green tome he carried with him. "Hey guys," he said, garnering everyone's attention. "According to his GameSpy Arcade profile, Sauron lives in Weehawken, New Jersey."

The forces of the free men of Middle-Earth looked at one another, but the decision was soon made and needed only to be spoken. Aragorn raised his sword Anduril aloft and screamed: "WE RIDE TO NEW JERSEY!"