The Trolls, stupified by the sheer insane quanitity and ferocity of attacks, feels time slow to a halt... this halt of time lingers for days, months.... they and all involved are lost in limbo. This limbo becomes an intense meditation....you ALL find yourselves... A peaceful bliss passes over you for months and months...as you slowly watch your spells and flails and febreze reach the trolls dropped jaw in wonderful slow motion. The trolls live in opposite terror, the exact opposite feeling that you adventures feel. Their sensation is a living hell...akin to being sucked into a black hole and feeling their body stretched slowly over time until they experience complete protonic reversal, akin to crossing the streams. They yern for their death, and in that mental prison of time, they have a moment of clarity and for once....just once in their miserable wasted lives as Spartafoxilover trolls feel maybe, just maybe being a troll was a really dumb and pointless thing. But that moment is in vain....
for on October 17 at 4am, the spells make contact, the flail hits, the febreze cleanses, and they shatter in an instant momentary explosion of mucus, troll ooze, and fart jokes, like a fireworks display, like how the deathstar exploded before george lucas fucked it up, like how trolls ought to die.
Everyone is covered in ooze, but nevertheless, had never felt so funky.
You all collect samples... but are quickly made aware of the glowing lights in the distance. "Oh yeah!" one of you cries. the glows get bigger and bigger. They start to look like giant flying bugs... there is a swarm of thousands....all around you all. In the distance is darkness... maybe a gate? maybe a door? Maybe your death?