Ahriman watched as Amon massaged a mixture of sandalwood, jasmine and benzoin oil into Magnus' flesh. Uthizzar scraped the excess oil from the primarch's body with a bone-bladed knife as Auramagma held a smoking censer that filled the air with the fragrance of cinquefoil. Phael Toron stood next to Ahriman, his body language stiff and awkward. From: A Thousand Sons, Graham McNeil















