Herzenfolgen: Remnant Records

Zwillingstürme im Herbst: Herzenfolgen
Covert Visitations	Remnant Records	Routine Visitations	Special Visitation

A list of Remnant Records in Zwillingstürme im Herbst's Herzenfolgen.

The records are quoted verbatim from the game and should be kept pristine. Edits and updates should be placed on other pages related to the same subject.

Vedunien's Collapse Complete the 1st Covert Visitation
Vedunien's Collapse
In my thirtieth year as concertmaster of the Vedunien City Orchestra, I was invited to play atop a spire at dusk. It was my first time looking over all of Vedunien. When the last rays of sunlight passed over the top of the spire and the twin moons were unveiled, Der Wiener Uhrturm ushered in the night with a clear, distant tune. From Weinshof on the outskirts to Doppelhörnershof in the inner city, the bells rang along the streets, and wherever they resounded, singing followed. I imagined a symphony of the city unfolding before my eyes: the streets were the staves, the scattered buildings the short notes, the towering spires the long tones, all intertwining into the wonderful melody that was Vedunien. I was immersed within it, and attempted to pluck my strings to join in the performance – but in the next moment, felt as if I was struck by lightning. I had no way of playing that melody. I did not deserve to touch a single note. This imperishable, exalted, glorious melody belongs to only a single person. The bells lead countless musical notes past countless spires until they land atop the Spire of Genesis. Then, everything falls silent, waiting with bowed heads. I seemed to hear a whisper coming from within the spire. The bell rang again, and the twenty-two district blocks sound in unison. From the top of the spire, the convergent melody rushed skyward, ever so majestic, yet as light as a stone skipping upon the surface of a lake. Waves cascaded through the night sky, and the stars shimmered. Imagination has become reality! Rejoice! This is truly a miracle unique to Leithanien! The entire land must hear it too! Forgive me, Leithanien. I recognized this miracle far, far too late. In the years that followed, the Twin Spires rose from the ruins of the previous one, proclaiming that they were the new masters of this ancient country, and setting their sights on the city beneath them. Since 1079, I have been revising this ode to Vedunien which, like the city itself, has lost its original name. Today, on the first day of 1092, as the evening bell tolls, I complete the last line of the twenty-second movement. At the same time, I seem to hear a sigh – the tremors of the last note of Vedunien falling to the ground. The Kaiserinnen's reconstruction of the capital is complete, and the King's melodies have been completely erased. The city's staves and ledgers are silent, waiting for the Twin Spires to play a new chapter. As my pen meets paper, the clear light from the twin moons shines through my window, illuminating the wet ink on my score. I've made up my mind to name this revised suite, "Zwillingstürmes Morgendämmerung." I have no way of knowing what fate this new melody will play. Alas, Vedunien, how I long to hear you once more in my dreams.

Lessing's Mourning Complete the 2nd Covert Visitation
Lessing's Mourning
He stood for a long time beneath the dusklight, staring at the empty, barren flower bed. The Ludwig Meister-Spire, which had stood for over three centuries, looms in all its majesty. It casts the longest shadow beneath the dusky sky, like a giant tree in the deep forest obscuring the land beneath its feet. The distant bell tolls, and afternoon classes draw to an end. Before long, one's ears are filled with the sounds of footsteps, the rustling of clothes, the crackling of Arts devices, and a medley of conversations. ––From introductory structural systems to the most specialized, esoteric discourse in esthesia, free-and-open discussions on the Originium Arts emerge one after another. Occasionally, glowing balls of Arts roll down the steps, and musical records zip by overhead at low altitudes. ––A few students dodge the records and continue to talk about pop music and new plays in underground theatres, expressing their partiality towards the love-and-hate of Siracusa's new plate. ––Two people in nobles' attire argue in hushed voices over what kind of posture Kreis Furtgang should take towards the Twin Spires, not noticing that their robes have been ignited with Arts. ––A slovenly-looking scholar mutters to himself before a star chart printed by Trimounts, periodically looking towards the sky while waiting for nightfall. Nobody mentions him, just as nobody discusses the soon-to-be-renovated flower bed. The only person to cast a sideways glance in his direction quickly turns away once more. He gives the restraints on his body a tug, his tense muscles akin to a stone tablet. "This flower bed beneath the Meister-Spire was built in the Year 766. At the time, the spire's owner was Kurfürst Ludwig, who was also known as 'The Scholar." That year, the spire welcomed its very first batch of students from common backgrounds. Despite the staunch opposition and ridicule of the nobles, the spire nevertheless opened its doors to them. Before ascending the spire, a scholar by the name of Hoffmann secretly scattered a bag of seeds from his hometown into the flower bed, and before long, it was teeming with nameless white flowers. Over the years, it became a tradition for all scholars of common birth to sow the seeds of their hometown in this flower bed. Did you know? Before the War of the Four Emperors, the flowers here blossomed just like the sky above a grand event. I wish I could see it with my own eyes. Today, nobody except the scholars deeply involved with the history of Eingeweide remember this past event." After listening to the exposition, he squats down in front of the flower bed without a word, presses his hand to the soil, and starts to grope around. After a while, he pinches out a small, hard object from the soil. A tiny seed. "Let's go, Professor Gerhard. I wouldn't want to get chewed out too much today," he says as he turns around, holding the seed in hand.

Letter from Urtica Grafschaft Complete the 3rd Covert Visitation
Letter from Urtica Grafschaft
To the Respectable Old "Blockhead": Please pardon my sudden interruption. You may not remember me, but my name is Melanie. Like Nanny Dura, I was formerly a maid for Graf Urtica. I am here to pass on some tragic news: Nanny Dura passed away three days ago at night, due to her condition taking a turn for the worse. The Urtican countryside was particularly cold this year, and she was ultimately unable to endure the fall season. The silver lining is, at least she passed without much suffering. No funeral was held for her. Due to the current situation in the Urtica territory, no cemetery was willing to take an unidentified maid. I sought assistance from the Graf's spire, but Graf Urtica himself has not returned there in quite some time, and his rebellious servants would rather hoard the spire's treasures for themselves than give their former companions the treatment they deserve. Fortunately, the local Maeyer family learned of the situation and came to our aid, and I was able to give her a proper burial in the southern barrens. The fowlbeasts and wild roses will be her company there, and she will not be alone. "A kindhearted old gentleman from Zwillingstürme, despite us never having met before, was still willing to help a commoner from Urtica." To this day, I still can't believe that we would be graced by such good fortune. Back when she was alive, Nanny used to always talk about you. Bread, new clothes, and coin to keep our shack repaired – you gave us these gifts so that we wouldn't freeze to death in the streets. You must be a noble soul full of pure virtue! There is nothing I can offer you but my sincerest gratitude. As I pen this letter to you, I still have not gotten over my grief. But, I've nevertheless made up my mind and want to tell you my decision: you no longer need to send us any funding in the future. The Maeyers share your virtuous heart and work tirelessly for the people of Urtica. With their help, I've found a new job picking fruit for a winery – difficult work, to be sure, but one that lets me be self-reliant. In the past, you've always encouraged us through your letters: "Don't give up hope on living; the dawn will eventually come." I swear to always keep your words on my mind, continue to persevere, and look forward to a brighter tomorrow. Finally, I have some minor, though improper, requests. If you happen to stop by Urtica one day, could you please visit the tomb of Nanny Dura –– Actually, it would be even better if we could meet again. This has been our long-cherished wish. May you be well in Zwillingstürme, and be blessed by the glory of the Twin Spires. Melanie

The Tardy Envoy Complete the 4th Covert Visitation
The Tardy Envoy
At dusk, at the Lutonshof Gendarmerie checkpoint, several officers are packing their equipment. "Captain, the case is starting to look promising. Are we just going to call off the investigation?" "That's precisely the reason why we're calling it off. Think about it: the clues we've found these last few days point to a noble with a rather complicated identity, and there's a chance it's even related to the Witch King's remains." "No wonder the Empresses' Voice sent a message to Markgraf Steiner, saying that they would handle the case– Oh! Say, are Their Majesties interested in personally supervising this?" "If we pursue it ourselves, we'll run into a lot of doors we can't open, and spires we can't climb. It's better to close it up and hand matters over to the Empresses' Voice..." The wooden door is pushed open, and a bright red light pours into the room. The people inside are dazzled for a spell, and the gendarmes immediately fall silent. The light of the sunset fades, and a diminutive figure stands in the afterglow. "The case isn't over," the boy says. "Where the hell did the kid come from? And what nonsense are you spouting..." "Baron Bastian Lotte, eldest gendarme of Lutonshof, you are the first person involved in this case, so I've come to you." The boy produces a black envelope: "The Empresses' Voice will intervene, but during this time, you are not to halt your investigation. You must continue looking into any relevant clues, and if you make any progress, please forward the information to the address on this confidential letter." "I'm afraid that even if I had the will for it, continuing the investigation would be..." "Steiner will not stop your work, nor will the Empresses' Voice." The Lupo boy holds out the envelope. "There is no door that this letter cannot open, and no spire that this letter cannot climb." The baron gulps, takes the dark letter, and rubs the golden seal with his fingertips. "Who... are you?" The boy's lips curl, and he finally falls silent. He immediately makes an about-face, casting a long black shadow as he sinks into the dissipating light of the sunset beyond the door.

Unowned Recollections Complete the 5th Covert Visitation
Unowned Recollections
Fallen leaves return to the treetops, moss recedes from the walls, spires sink into the ground, and time peels away from around you. This memory seems to have no owner. Arts weave into structures all around you; pavilions, domes – you recognize this as a theater. This theater is not in Zwillingstürme; it was destroyed before Zwillingstürme was born. It is dark all around the theater, with the lights focused on the stage. Beneath the lights, people in dazzling attire are putting on an opera. A battleship plows onto the stage, interweaving the spire with soil. Wilted flowers are thrown all over the ruined walls, and a mother kneels down clutching her two daughters. "The tyrant tramples the promised land!" "Sorcery and filth have defiled our home!" You've heard these pieces. You've seen the opera. It's been performed countless times. Leopold. The soldiers march out of the battleship and drag the mother away. The mother tearfully says goodbye to her two daughters. The actor playing the mother cries, still in operatic manner: "No, these children cannot go without their mother. Leithanien cannot go without its mother!" The theater lights up, and you look around the auditorium – only one person is seated there. He rubs his signet ring, burn scars covering the hand that holds his cane. You notice that his hand is made of steel and stone. You notice that you have seen him before – he is the portrait, the monument, the heroic legend of Leithanien. He is the opera itself. "Leithanien cannot go without its mother..." Großherzog Leopold repeats these lines. "Leithanien cannot go without its mother." There is another figure inside the otherwise empty theater, an emaciated old man who appeared behind the opera-goer. "You shouldn't have let them act out this vulgar drama of yours, Leopold." The old man's excoriating words rain down without mercy. "Herkunftshorn's power is not your plaything." "Their power was indeed born from Herkunftshorn's secret chamber, from Herkunftshorn's manuscript..." Leopold is not downcast. His eyes continue to fixate on the stage, not parting from the two girls there. "However, I am the one who shaped this power. It should know why it must be strong." "Leithanien cannot go without its mother. Wouldn't you agree, Fremont?" The girls help each other stand up, and you suddenly realize that they are brighter than gold, and deeper than night. The performance on the stage continues. The two girls swing daggers concealed in their bosoms, and the colliding weapons release sparks that blossom into rays of light as the harmony sings. "The hero swings her fabled sword!" "The tyrant is no more!" The lights dim, and darkness engulfs the theater. First to disappear is Leopold, then his play, then the two girls – the last to disappear is the face of a black-haired girl among them. The memory without an owner ends thusly.

Secret Note in the Wind Complete the 6th Covert Visitation
Secret Note in the Wind
To Grimmacht: I have been sickly and weak ever since I was a child. Sturmland under my rule is remote and prone to disasters, and in recent years, illness and old age have prevented me from making my pilgrimage for quite some time. Never did I expect to receive Their Majesties' love. I am ever grateful that you are greatly concerned about the state of Sturmland as well as my own health, despite the demands of your national affairs. The court physicians who arrived from the Twin Spires tried their best to delay the progression of this stubborn disease, and I am thus able to temporarily stay healthy; and with this health, I will continue to sit atop the spire of Sturmwind, and continue building the glory of the empire. However, how can the life of a measly Kurfürst compare to the glory of the empire? How can it be as long-lasting as the empire's dominion? Even if the spire of Sturmland is completely sealed shut and the lords and their men are completely safe, the disease that has plagued me for years will come to claim my life sooner or later. The position of Kurfürst was never mine to begin with, but since taking over, it is no longer a responsibility I can run from. And this responsibility does not vanish simply because I am bedridden. While I was ill, the spire has already become coveted, with several Herzöge already butting heads. When I die, the spire will be left without a master, and they will surely erupt into chaos in an attempt to seize the vacated throne. Sturmland is already plagued by disasters, and its people will not be able to withstand yet another calamity. At that time, the Güldenesgesatz will break down, and the blame will fall solely upon me. The first half of my life was cut short on the day my father and brother died in battle; and the latter half, these twenty-three years, have been spent placed upon Sturmland's throne. Perhaps it is this very responsibility that has made my life akin to a flower in the wind, burnt into gasping embers amidst a raging storm. Perhaps that greater responsibility, that of an empire – will eventually burn us all out. The only unfortunate thing is, that scenery seems only to exist behind me; after all, I was never able to witness it with my own eyes. I only hope that after the death of Werner von Hochberg, the glory of the empire burns even more radiantly, and the empire's dominion continues forevermore.

Memorial Auditorium Visitor's Brochure Complete the special Visitation
Memorial Auditorium Visitor's Brochure
1. An Introduction to the Memorial Hall "Der Schwingende Gentleman" Memorial Auditorium was completed in 1083, formerly known as the three hundred year-old Graf Pangwen Spire. Graf Pangwen was a renowned musician who was active three hundred years ago. He was well-reputed throughout society for his outstanding musical achievements and his unique, witty personality, earning him the nickname of "Der Schwingende Gentleman." Graf Pangwen's spire has undergone many changes since its establishment, but has withstood the torrent of change. It still continues to preserve a large number of ancient musical instruments and music scores, and remains one of the most faithful witnesses to the history of Kreis Eingeweide, and even Leithanien itself. Today, Graf Pangwen Spire has been renamed "Der Schwingende Gentleman" Memorial Auditorium after renovations, and is once again open to the public. Through the ancient and elegant collections here, visitors can catch a glimpse into Leithanien's glorious past and understand how this magnificent opus continues into the present day. Admission: 2 ducats/person. In memory of Graf Pangwen, admission is free for those under 1.5 meters of height, regardless of age. 2. Exhibition Collections ...... No. 23 Pink Felt Mallet The head of this mallet is made of pink and white felt, producing a soft and smooth tone with its soft texture. The wooden rod is inlaid with obsidian. Unfortunately, only one of its kind exists. An administrator at the memorial auditorium once claimed that he saw a large number of such mallets bouncing around the hall late at night, making strange noises wherever they went. This has been passed down as a ghost story. ...... No. 46 Silver Violin Bow This beautifully-shaped violin bow is entirely silver-white. The bow is fashioned from strange materials, described by critics as "pure unmelting snow" wrapped by countless threads of ice. There are some mysterious phenomena surrounding this collection piece – for example, no matter what is played using it, the listener can always hear a vague whisper, and a feeling of homesickness invariably arises in their heart... Recent research has discovered that the mysterious patterns engraved on the bow bear striking similarities to the patterns of Sami textiles. ...... No. 76 Blue Tailfeather Drum The most striking thing about this Sargon-style percussion instrument is the slender blue tail feathers attached to it. Despite its beautiful appearance, the rusty smell wafting from it tends to make people slightly uncomfortable. It is rumored that beating on this drum can make the artificers that craft Arts Units understand the mysteries behind their mechanical structures. Therefore, there was a time when many artificers would come to beat on the drum in prayer. Eventually, they either ended up obsessed with touching up old junk, or hopped on a vehicle to Sargon. ...... No. 123 "Tumbleweed's Dream" Nocturne This nocturne is one of many pieces composed by Graf Pangwen, exemplifying the Graf's signature cool and tranquil style. What makes this piece different, however, is that it depicts a scene of a tumbleweed rolling across the barrens on a moonlit night. Tumbleweeds are known only to exist in Columbia and Rim Billiton, which proves that Graf Pangwen had already reached the "unknown land," further evidence of Leithanien's profound national might at the time. ...... No. 295 Gray Animal Fur This tuft of animal fur is the final piece of the collection in the exhibition. Salvaged from the garbage bag of Graf Pangwen, it is hard to the touch, and congealed with dry grass and gravel. It has been preserved to this day as an example of how the Graf made musical instruments by hand. Graf Pangwen's manuscripts document the reason why this particular tuft of fur was discarded: poor quality. 3. Assorted Anecdotes ...... The Mystery of Graf Pangwen's Disappearance: The Graf's servants said that during the later stages of his artistic career, the Graf was often troubled by the complacency and stagnation in Leithanien's musical form. After the Graf retired to his room one night, there suddenly came the sound of bickering from inside the door, mixed in with various animal-like shouts as well as sounds of objects breaking. The servants could only catch a couple lines of what was said: "You guys lost the bet, what the hell does it have to do with me?!" "Fine, fine, you can have it, don't tug on my feathers!" The servants knew that the Graf had a habit of inviting guests over privately, so they did not dare to barge in rashly. They simply listened as the Graf launched into a war of words with the people inside the room, his speech growing progressively faster and more rhythmic. From time to time, an instrument would sound once or twice, almost as if forming a melody. At that moment, the Graf suddenly let out a strange cry and shouted, "YO~ That's it!", after which the room fell silent. The servants outside tried to check on the Graf but received no response. Fearing that something might've happened to their master, they threw open the door, only to discover that there was nobody inside the room, and the Graf was nowhere to be seen.