TELENGARD

The remake opens on the original’s promise: fifty levels, two million rooms, and a light you carry.

Six attributes, three dice each — exactly the original’s roll. No class, no alignment, no god.

Strength, Intelligence, Wisdom, Constitution, Dexterity, Charisma.

Cell 25-13, level one. The dark is real: your torch is the only light that matters.

Walls stop your sight. A doorway is the only way to see the next room — and the only way to die in it.

One of the nine oddities. Its colour is a roll: it can heal you, poison you, intoxicate you, or strip your magic items.

Pry the jewels, sit down, or read the runes. Two of the three options are a mistake.

It does not want worship. It wants gold — and if you refuse, something undead comes to argue.

You fall unless your Dexterity beats the roll. On the fiftieth level the pit becomes an elevator.

A scramble of coordinates. Most of the time it drops you somewhere else entirely.

Walk in and it may put you on any level you name. It asks first, and you should read the fine print.

Four buttons and a combination. Guess it and you are rich; guess wrong and the box bites.

A platform that rises one level. The only reliable way up.

A circular stairway, up and down, exactly where the original put one.

Real-time encounters. It never pauses, and it never asks whether you are ready.

The original’s formula, running at the speed of reflex.

Sixty percent of rooms hold something. Thirty percent of that is a chest. Fifteen percent is a trap.

Spell units are the original’s currency: they only come back at an inn or when you level up.

The original’s status screen, rebuilt: attributes, magic items, spell levels, effects.

Only the cells you have walked are known. The rest is dark.

The dungeon does not wait.