You had to admit to yourself that even for this adventure, hearing a wedding march and smelling the stench of trolls was an odd combination. But hey, dwarves don’t live underground for hundreds of years without knowing a few tricks on how to slaughter a troll or two. First comes the hacking: go for an arm first, then a leg. If all goes as planned, in two rounds, Mr. stinky troll is hopping around like Frodnir Brokenhammer on the High Feast of Hanseath, after he had three too many ales. Second comes the burning: throw oil and apply flame liberally. Third comes the mincing: what isn’t hacked or burned gets chopped into small, largely harmless pieces. Fourth comes the looting: trolls like their gold almost as much a dwarf does.

As you smash through the door, with Rordricke at your side, you quickly realize that your tricks for handling trolls did not include how to handle somewhere between 20 and 40 of them. Gobliminator in hand, you rush at the nearest ones, knowing that Clanggedin Silverbeard prefers his dwarves to die after at least killing a few of their enemies.

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Your adventure has ended.

Try again?