Last Light of Crichnuil

Six centuries prior to Peter getting a sword for his birthday, there was a war. The world existed at that time under one rule: the Pallid Mages. The ancient, ageless survivors of Crichnuil, possessing knowledge and technology leagues beyond the world at large. Rabbits of spotless white. The children of S'zonhus. This mighty race saw all others as mere tools, for the fire of magic unnatural, a gift from the First Sorcerer, burned for them alone. With it they made themselves sovereign: no one could stand before a wizard in combat. No one... except another wizard. In time, the ancient ways became endangered by the advent of new knowledge. Knowledge that inverted not only their accepted laws of science, but their religious system as well. The new threatened the old, and the empire split. War came on, but no ordinary war was this. The air hummed and popped with electricity. The ground shifted and split, torn asunder by the terrifying clashes of dueling arch mages. The War of the Pulse had begun, and it seemed that the whole world would die before it ended. Then, all at once, it was over. The war suddenly ceased to be, for no more did the Pallid Mages rise to take up arms against themselves. They had been wiped out, scorched off the face of the world. How? It is unclear. But out from the battlefields, were arcane smoke hung thick in the air from the flames that had once climbed into the clouds... There walked a single white rabbit. Raasmhus. The Last Light of Crichnuil. (Listen to "Saving Sanity" by Retro Phunk while viewing. Why? Because I listened to that song while drawing this picture two years ago.)