Look now to the past, and to the time of peace on Bryyo. See the age of gold, when our world was a paradise unrivaled. Hear the songs of joy fill the streets of the Royal City, as the people honor the coming of Bryyus the First, the Liberator. Behold the launch of our first ship to the stars on that day, and witness the rise of Science, of a New Bryyo. See this, and see the beginning of our downfall.
Age of Science
The ships of Bryyo sped to the stars, in all directions, bearing the banner of peace. Soon we found stellar brethren in the Chozo, the Luminoth, and the Vlla. Starborne knowledge came to Bryyo, and we gladly sent our wisdom to our new friends in return. The hearts of Bryyo were filled with pride, and they honored the Lords of Science for all the wonders we provided. As the time of New Bryyo came to be, the old ways faded. The cries of joy from those who honored Science covered the angry shouts of those who mourned the old ways, the Primal Traditions.
Age of Schism
In time, the wonders of Science were not enough for those who held the Primal Traditions in their hearts. The warnings of the Chozo--to seek balance between old and new ways--were not heeded by the Lords of Science, myself included. We forged on, ignorant of the rage in the hearts of the Primals. The time came when Sfimas, First Lord of Science, denounced the Primals and their Traditions in the center of the Royal City. It was as flame to a dry forest. The Age of Science ended, and the Age of Schism was born.
Age of War
In the beginning, the conflicts were small, out of sight for most on Bryyo.
But they grew, slowly but as steady as the coming sun. Diplomacy gave way to brutality, and war came to our world. The Lords of Science turned their minds from exploration to destruction, and unleashed horrors unknown upon their Primal enemies. In retaliation, the Primals turned to the darkest of ancient powers, cursing us, the Science Lords, and all who served our cause. Friends from the stars tried desperately to end the conflict, all in vain. The people of war would not be denied.
Look now to the time of battle, tribe against tribe. See fertile land swept clean of all living things by arcane nightmares or the hellish blasts of Science. See the giant stone Mogenars do battle, destroying the land with their titanic blows. And hear the undying scream of a planet wracked by darkest war. The battles waged endlessly, and the resources needed to sustain our war machines were great. Bryyo too had become a casualty of the war: the air was filled with the smoke of battle and the soil soaked with the toxins of pollution. Calamity after calamity visited the folk of Bryyo, until a world once known for wonders became a scarred husk under the stars. Only a small region remained habitable, and to it the survivors went, bringing the war with them.
We, the Lords of Science, mishandled the use of our knowledge. The devastation of the war robbed us of the rare resources necessary to fuel our war engines. Without our machines we were unable to stand up to the Primal armies, and they overran the enclaves of many Science Lords. What few remained fled into dark places, polluted wastelands even the bravest of Primal warriors would not dare enter. Whatever joy there may have been amongst the victorious was quickly stamped out by the grim reality surrounding them. Bryyo, their cradle, their sacred home...was on the verge of death.
Struggle of Exiles
As the followers of the Primal Traditions celebrated their victory, a number of surviving Science Lords gathered in a hidden sanctuary. It was there that our foolishness became obvious, and we regretted ignoring the Chozo's warning. We realized the folly of following the ways of Science with blind faith--and the peril of all Bryyo. The contamination left from the battles was spreading, and would soon scour the remaining fertile lands, leaving naught but ash. If left unaided, Bryyo would lose what few safe lands and water remained. Once more, our great minds turned to a grand task...planetary salvation. As our enemies searched the lands for us, the last Lords of Science, we created our final machines and launched them into the heavens.
The great machines of the Science Lords performed flawlessly. They absorbed the toxins and pollution in the air and soil, preserving the remaining fertile land of Bryyo. Yet the planet's climate was forever changed, leaving one side eternally scorched by the sun, the other forever in the icy grasp of darkness. The launch of the machines revealed the hidden enclave of the Science Lords to their former enemies. The bright lights in the skies caused by the decontamination equipment stirred old hatred in the hearts of the Primals. Fearing a new attack, the Primals sent their warriors forth to hunt their hated foes. We were now marked for death.
The Primals crafted new magics to protect their warriors, and sent them into the burning wastelands to hunt the Lords of Science hiding there. Though we tried to avoid contact, many Science Lords were found and ended by Primal war bands. I was but the sole survivor, the last remaining Lord of Science. In order to protect myself, I adopted the wisdom once shared by the Chozo. I merged the ways of the new--Science--with the ways of old--Magic. I built mighty Mogenars out of stone, and placed them outside the walls of my home, there to silently protect me from all enemies.
Forgotten in exile, a creature of myth, I, the last Lord of Science,worked
tirelessly to protect myself and this world. I crafted magics and machines to bring life back to the wastelands. I found a new source of natural energy in the land and called it Fuel Gel. I vowed to atone for the devastation inflicted upon Bryyo, caused by both science and war. Yet, while I toiled, the Primals slipped slowly into barbarism. With no Science Lords to hunt, they turned on each other, tribe against tribe. Magic was lost to them, and they became as savage as the predator beasts of the wild.
As time slowly passed, I grew old: even the combined power of magic and science couldn't cheat death forever. In order to preserve Bryyo's environment, I would need a successor. Finding one was a daunting task, for most of the folk saw me as a monster. Time passed quickly as I searched, and my efforts appeared to be in vain. Seemingly by chance, I found a young Primal wondering the wastelands and rescued her. But this was not a chance encounter. She was a prophetess, tirelessly searching for the last Lord of Science to speak to about her visions. In her dreams, she saw a starborne death coming to Bryyo, and with her vision came a plea to save her world. Based on her information, I began work on improving the existing decontamination equipment to help prepare a defense for Bryyo against the eventual catastrophe.
Sadly, disaster came to us before we could finish our work. An accident caused our supply of Fuel Gel to explode, sending fire to the sky and exposing our position. It was not long before a Primal war band saw the great fire, and rushed to attack. Without a way to power my great Mogenars, I had no way to defend myself from their assault. Fleeing would only drive them to pursue us to no end, and they would show no mercy to either one of us once caught. I had no other choice except to stand my ground while the prophetess fled to safety. With her I sent my records of the past, in hopes they would both find sanctuary. You now read my last words, etched in stone and placed by the prophetess. We speak to you from beyond the grave, to plead with you... Save our world from the starborne plague. Lift the veil of hate from the eyes of our people. May our remaining relics serve you well in this struggle.</P>