Artellus Numeon - =Death: With the Death Guard vanquished and Vulkan’s corpse safely returned to Nocturne, Artellus Numeon had no reason to believe that Vulkan would not be reborn. With Nomus Rhy’tan's help the Lord of Drakes would finally be resurrected - of that Numeon was sure. However Numeon could not have anticipated that the respected Lord Chaplain would oppose him; it was not that Rhy’tan refused to conduct the sacred burial rites of the XVIII Legion, rather he did not believe that Vulkan would rise again at the rites’ end. As his pupil, Var'kir, before him, Rhy'tan lacked the belief that Vulkan's state was anything other than the eternal slumber of death. He had of course heard of the miracles witnessed by those few of the Pyre that remained, but did not believe them. The Circle of Fire’s lessons of immolation and rebirth were only spiritual, but by laying Vulkan to rest in the heart of Mount Deathfire, another leader could emerge -- Artellus Numeon, if he wished so. For the sake of their Legion’s future, Rhy'tan would not challenge Numeon's claim of leadership over the XVIII Legion, confident in Numeon's abilities to federate and reforge the Salamanders. Hope still remained that those garrisons stationed on Gerreon and other places could be raised and called back to Nocturne. Numeon however declined the Lord Chaplain's offer. In his eyes only Vulkan was fit to lead the Salamanders back into the war. And Vulkan would live again. To ensure this, Numeon brought Vulkan's body to the sacred ground beneath Mount Deathfire.Despite his misgivings, Nomus Rhy'tan agreed to conduct the proper burial rituals for his Primarch for he was wise enough to see that the Legion -- all that remained of it -- was in dire need of a sense of closure. So it came to pass, that the last sons of Vulkan -- by now fewer than 800 in number -- witnessed his passing. Each and every one of them had received the brander's mark that would commemorate the death of their Primarch. Armoured but unhelmed, their drake-hide capes fluttered occasionally in the heat, the Salamanders bore witness to the bier carrying Vulkan to his final resting place. Vulkan was born to the heart of Mount Deathfire on a bier of granite with Dawnbringer, his mighty warhammer, still clenched in his grip and the fulgurite spear that had claimed his immortal life still jutting from his chest, for none had been able to remove it. Ceremonial chains had been wrapped around the Primarch's arms, legs, torso and neck to bind his spirit to his body, allowing both to be consecrated to the flame. The bier advanced to the monotonous beating of hammers on anvils, and the gathered Salamanders struck their breast in unison. Before the bier, his head bowed in supplication, marched Lord Chaplain Nomus Rhy'tan. Reaching the mountain's caldera, Rhy'tan raised his fist and silence fell over the chamber before the Lord Chaplain started to recite the traditional verses in the old tongue of Noturne. A cadre of four Firedrakes gathered around their Primarch, holding him aloft while the chains that would let him descend into the heart of the furnace were pulled taut enough to hold him. With the final words of Rhy'tan's speech still ringing in their ears, Vulkan's body was lowered into the caldera. As the Primarch's body disappeared into the magma, the Salamanders daubed their fingers into burning ash and traced the Nocturnean sigil for rebirth on their bare foreheads. Then the Firedrakes let go of the chains and Nomus Rhy'tan destroyed the bier which had borne Vulkan this far with a strike of his mighty warhammer. Thus it was done -- Vulkan had been consigned to the fires of his homeworld. Minutes turned into hours, hours into days and still there was no sign of Vulkan rising.After over a week of waiting, this turn of events sufficiently broke Numeon's spirit. As the next Time of Trials drew near, Numeon renounced his rank and position. Long had he been ruminating over the words of Magnus the Red, who had asked, "How much would you sacrifice to see Vulkan restored?" Numeon now had his answer. Stripping off his power armour and weapons which he both reverently put away in Vulkan’s golden casket, Artellus Numeon stealthily and secretely departed from his fellow legionaries. Wandering away into the burning ash wastes around Mount Deathfire, he offered himself as a final sacrifice so that his father and Primarch could be restored. Descending into one of the volcano’s magma vents, Artellus Numeon departed the world of the living, never to be reunited with his gene-sire again.