Ros smiled. This room wasn't the one he had went to sleep in. No, it was much too nice. His house was brilliant, no doubt, but compared to this, it was no more than a slum. Brilliantly colored paintings littered the walls, hung beside fine silk tapestries, some thousands of years old. Taking out a knife, Ros checked every corner of the room, before returning to the middle and retrieving the note. "Hello, Ros. You may be The Sacred Son of Horicron, but your titles will do you no good here. Escape this labyrinth and freedom may be yours, but if not, your body will rot no differently than the body of a peasant - The Mask" This was going to be fun.