Limveld’s mist-cloaked valleys breathe with danger as every expedition begins—a dance of steel and desperation where Tarnished scavenge weapons and hoard strength for the Nightlord’s chilling gaze. In this realm where numbers overwhelm and shadows conspire, salvation often hangs on a slender twig: the Bewitching Branch, a gilded deception spun from Empyrean Miquella’s vanished dreams. These enchanted splinters don’t just alter battles; they rewrite loyalties in ink of gold, offering a fleeting truce when blades tremble and hope thins. Like a lover’s forgotten promise, they compel affection from foes—yet their secrets hide in Limveld’s capricious heart.

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A branch blessed by Miquella’s vanished grace—golden, fragile, humming with borrowed devotion.

Hunting Ghosts in Crates

You won’t find these golden whispers waiting politely by crossroads. Nah, Limveld plays coy—loot tumbles like dice in a drunkard’s fist. Supply Crates? They’re the game’s favorite hiding spots, scattered like broken teeth across churches, ruins, and skeletal forts. Smash four crates near those flask-upgrade altars; maybe a branch nestles inside, playing hide-and-seek. Castles guard them too, but it’s all a gamble—the map’s markings tease like mirages. Got lucky last run? Don’t expect a repeat. This realm’s memory resets with cruel amnesia.

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Relics & Run-Starting Tricks

Here’s the kicker: sometimes the Nightreign itself slips you two branches at dawn’s first light. After any expedition—glorious victory or sobbing defeat—Relics shuffle their cosmic deck. One rare effect? Starting with Branches already in-pocket. If Fortuna’s fickle smile lands on you? Boom. You’re bewitching wolves before your boots sink into Limveld’s mud. But chasing this Relic’s like betting on a three-legged horse—possible, but don’t hold your breath.

How the Magic Whispers

Hold one, and feel its pulse—a tiny sun trapped in wood. But heed this:

  • Inventory’s a stingy beast. Only two branches per slot, max ten if you’ve coughed up 5,000 Runes for that fancy Small Pouch (merchants smirk as you pay).

  • Range? Pathetic. Gotta breathe down an enemy’s neck. Miss, and it’s just waving a twig pathetically.

  • Works like a charm... mostly. Target shimmers gold, ignores you, attacks pals. But here’s the twist—you can still stab your new ‘ally’ if regret bites. Cheeky, right?

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A Tarnished inching close—breath held, branch extended—as magic bleeds into a foe.

Not All Ears Hear the Whisper

Big hulking brutes? Giants with tree-trunk legs? Nah, they just chuckle at your twig. Branches only seduce the small fry—common soldiers, skittering beasts. Waste one on a troll, and it’s like tossing a rose at a thunderstorm. Poetic? Sure. Useful? Heck no.

Worth the Hoard?

Let’s cut the fluff:

  • Found some? Grab 'em! When five spears jab at your ribs, a branch’s gasp of peace? Priceless.

  • But don’t go emptying vaults. Other consumables—explosives, healing balms—bring more bang for your buck. Branches? They’re emergency exits, not thrones.

So, Tarnished—next time Limveld’s shadows close in, let Miquella’s golden lie dance on your fingertips. Crack those crates, chase Relic dreams, and when chaos roars... make enemies betray their own. The Nightlord awaits, but first? Turn the tide with a whisper. Go on—your branches hunger for treachery.