Dead by Daylight

[Teeny]

I bought the funky ghost man. And he is certainly funky. I thougnt I was going to suck on my first game but uhhhhh I got three kills. :')
I also bought Spirit, Plague and Legion because I had some left over cells (because my undecided asa was debating over either a cosmetic for both Doctor and Wraith or get more killers).

I've still yet to play since GhostFace has been in the game, I will definitely be playing at the weekend, been so tired after work this week.
That's awesome! Out of those, I'd say Spirit is the strongest once mastered

Yeah i got two of the four on my first try as the ghost. I get better as i go. I just not sure how to run from the killeer, like i feel like i'm going really slow or something.

Well done PharaohAtem! It's all practice!
If you want more speed, Meg is probably the faster survivor. In terms of perks, sprint burst is a good for a quick escape. I find Balanced Landing really good, it removes the delay after jumping from high areas and gets your running quick. Adrenaline is good for a few seconds if injured once the final generator has been completed, maybe Hope too! Also Urban Evasion allows you to crouch move quicker.

[PharaohAtem]

Well I ended up running myself into a corner so I kinda screwed myself in an area I wasn't sure but as the murderer I now know where to hide kind of. It's always nicer when a hooks near by.

[Teeny]

Killer Lore - The Ghost Face



Introducing the newest Killer in Dead by Daylight, the legendary Ghost Face.

Danny Johnson, known as Jed Olsen by some, grabbed the newspaper from the kitchen counter: it was a week old, but his face was on the front page, grainy and sunken. It was one of those muggy afternoons in Florida when heat and humidity permeated everything in the kitchen, making him sweat while standing still. He slouched in a damp chair to read. This article had better be good—his work in Roseville had been outstanding.
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GHOST FACE DISAPPEARS
June 18, 1993

At first glance, Jed Olsen was a modest and enthusiastic freelancer with experience in a variety of small newspapers. The staff at the Roseville Gazette appreciated how easy-going and honest he seemed, and so he was treated as a stranger for no more than five minutes into his interview:

“Jed quickly spotted the editor-in-chief in the room, gave him a wide smile and a firm handshake, and talked about good old American values. And that was it, he was in.” —Ex-Contributor at the Roseville Gazette

Olsen never justified his erratic career path, which zigzagged between several small towns from Utah to Pennsylvania. There was no verification of his previous jobs. He had a decent portfolio plus a good attitude, and they needed a contributor right away.
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THE ROSEVILLE MURDERS

Olsen had been working at the newspaper for five months when the Roseville Murders began: victims from young to old, stabbed to death in their homes. From the reports, the victims seemed chosen at random, yet the killer knew his way around in the houses. The multiple stab wounds indicated a personal motive. No traces of DNA were found. The local police were confounded: the murders were carried with fury akin to a crime of passion yet coldly premeditated.

The murderer also liked to stalk his targets. Two victims had reported being followed on their way home by a dark figure, a few days prior their death. The killer would follow them from Walleyes, a small bar in Northern Roseville, and snap pictures of them at home, while looking for a way in. He could watch the same victim for weeks, meticulously registering their habits and routines. When he felt the urge to kill, he’d visit the most vulnerable victim on his list, and break inside the house quietly.

The whole staff worked on the Roseville Murders story. Olsen was often sent to interview the family of victims and relay official statements from the police. Unknown to everyone at the time, his involvement added to the final body count.





THE GHOST FACE

Panic swelled in Roseville when Olsen produced footage of a hooded figure breaking into a house at night. The masked face, a white blur in the dark, stared at the camera for a second, before disappearing inside.
“The Ghost Face Caught on Tape” was the resulting article, written by Olsen. He seemed proud of his work at the time, enjoying how the whole town feared his ghost stories.

Weeks later, Olsen left a note on his work desk and disappeared:

“I hope you liked my stories--I enjoyed bringing them to life. Don’t worry, I’m not done.” –Jed Olsen

The Roseville law enforcement still refuses to comment as Jed Olsen remains at large.

Danny smiled, ripping out the article from the newspaper. When the investigation had been pointing to him, he’d packed his bags and left Roseville swiftly.

He got up, the clammy seat pulling his skin. An oppressive humidity engulfed him as he entered the bedroom. Condensation dribbled on a small misted-up window as bits of cracked wallpaper hung limply. Its floral pattern was covered with gruesome photos and newspaper headlines. Danny pinned the week-old article on top of a picture of lacerated scalps. A faint pang of hunger hit him, and he wondered when he had eaten last.
Was it this morning, while washing his knife and clothes? Or was it last night, after following that girl down the street? He couldn’t remember clearly.

Taking a step back, he admired his work on the wall. His mind drifted, remembering all the articles he’d written, the stories he’d planned, and the scenes he’d brought to life.



A shiver ran through him. A chilling breeze transformed the bedroom's humidity into an opaque, freezing Fog. A woman shrieked. Dead leaves crunched under his feet. He smiled in anticipation.

[PharaohAtem]

Yeah deffently one creepy one. Playing right now.

[Teeny]

I'm going to be playing shortly too ^^

[PharaohAtem]

What do you play yours on?

[Teeny]

I play on PC

[PharaohAtem]

Same. I hung someone in the basement that was interesting never did it down there but they kinda stopped I think sacrifice so everyone else got away dang sneaky old man, I did at least stab everyone but one. oh well. Time to try survivor now.

[Teeny]

To celebrate the 3 Year Anniversary, Dead by Daylight is free to play over the weekend!

[Teeny]

Survivor Lore - Kate Denson




One of Kate Denson's earliest memories was standing in front of her family, singing a song that she'd learned that morning at school, and watching smiles spread across their faces.
Seeing how something as simple as a song could make people so happy was the moment when she knew what she wanted to do with her life.

She practised, learned the guitar as soon as she was big enough to reach over it, and was performing in front of crowds by the time she was eight years old.
Her mother did everything she could to fulfil Kate's dreams, taking her all over their home state of Pennsylvania, then across the South, and even to Nashville itself.

Kate won folk music competitions and talent shows whenever she participated, but for her to win others had to lose, and that wasn't in her nature.
She only wanted an outlet, a way to touch people's lives. To make them forget the worries of the world and just enjoy themselves, if only for a while.

With age came a new-found freedom. She bought a battered old Chevy truck and was able to travel around by herself, meeting fans and making new friends wherever she stopped.
Hers wasn't a story of rock excess though: just the road, her guitar and maybe a good bourbon to end the day.

From sun-baked festivals to dark and cosy bars, people flocked to her voice and her self-penned songs of friendship, family, love and home.

These sentiments weren't just lip-service: she made sure to return home as often as she could, to help out in her community and entertain the local children with her tales of the wider world.
She saw it as a way of giving back, of supporting others in the same way she had been.

It was home where she found most of her inspiration as well. She had always loved to take long walks in the woods around her town, exploring off the beaten track, finding a quiet spot to play and write her songs.
She had a favourite location she returned to time and time again, a natural hollow, encircled by trees, that looked almost as if it had been blasted out of the rocks thousands of years ago.

Here she felt a strong connection to nature, and to the Earth itself. She let her mind be enveloped by the forest and it rewarded her with constant inspiration.

She picked up her guitar and played, her fingers dancing across the fretboard. The music that she made this time was unlike her usual uplifting tunes, being much more melancholy, even dark. Still, something compelled her to continue, to finish the song.



Around her, the leaves vibrated in unison with the guitar strings and the boughs of the trees lengthened, coalescing into a living form. Spider-like legs descended from the canopy above, grasping for her. Regaining her senses, she grabbed a rock and tried to beat them back, but their skin was hard as iron and the rock simply bounced off and skittered away.

The legs coiled like tendrils around her limbs and lifted her towards the darkness overhead. Fog rolled across the clearing, obscuring both Kate and the creature of nightmares that drew her up towards itself.

When the fog cleared, there was no sign of any struggle, or of life. Just an acoustic guitar, the scratch plate engraved with flowers; as well as the initials KD, inlaid in mother of pearl.

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[PharaohAtem]

Nice hiding spot.

[Teeny]

Feng Min's Rare Loot Collector and The Wraith's Weathered Scarecrow cosmetics are now available on all platforms

[PharaohAtem]

Super creepy blending in

[Teeny]

It makes me think that actually a Scarecrow killer in general would be quite cool

[Teeny]

Killer Lore - The Clown



Kenneth Chase was born in 1932 by a difficult labour, which his mother wouldn't survive. This event drove a rift between him and his father that never closed. As the boy grew, so did his father's resentment, and his drinking habit. By the time Kenneth was at school, they lived mostly separate lives.

Academically, he was unremarkable, coasting by on his significant athletic prowess. He grew tall and strong, excelling at track events, but shunned any attempts to coax him into team sports.

On his walk home from school, he would often find feathers on the ground and he soon began a collection, keeping them in a cigar box under his bed. With his father either at work or in an alcohol-induced stupor, Kenneth had hours to spend alone, transfixed by the regularity of the feathers' barbs and the feeling of softness as he ran them over his lips. Watching the birds that came to the feeder in his garden, he imagined how soft they must be and resolved to catch one. He ingratiated himself with the local dentist, soon procuring some anaesthetic. Using this, he rigged up a trap on the feeder, that he hoped would knock out a bird long enough that he could touch it.

After a few failed attempts, he managed to trap a robin. As it lay in his hand, he felt a sudden rush, of a life at his mercy. He had planned to release it once it recovered from the anaesthetic. Instead, as its eyes flickered back into consciousness and it began to struggle, his grip remained firm. His fingers slowly tightened around its throat, squeezing until its chest feathers were finally still. He disposed of the body, keeping just a feather, with which he started a new collection, discarding the others as "fake".

By the late 1940s, Kenneth had left school and started working as a busboy at a local diner. He had also escalated to larger prey, like squirrels, raccoons and dogs, becoming skilled at customising the anaesthetic dosage for each.

In early 1954, a young man went missing and the town was turned upside down in the search. A few months later, Kenneth's father, while doing some work in the crawlspace under the house, found a cigar box. He broke it open and saw, to his horror, that it contained feathers, animal paws, and a man's finger.

Returning from work, Kenneth saw his father leaving the crawlspace with a cigar box in his hands. He turned on his heel and never went home again.

After a few weeks of living rough, he encountered a travelling circus and, with his prodigious strength, was hired to work the ropes. He assumed a new name: Jeffrey Hawk.

Suddenly surrounded by a close-knit community, "Jeffrey" had to learn to socialise. He donned a new personality like a disguise, quickly becoming known as charming and helpful, and was welcomed into his new family.

Over the next decade, he stayed with the circus, travelling the length and breadth of the United States. But, with the itinerant life providing few repercussions, he fell into bad habits. Drinks, junk food, drugs, he indulged in all of them to excess. For a time, these vices were enough, but then his old urges returned and his nomadic existence became a cover for him to resume killing. He stole clothes and make-up from performers, fashioning a disguise that would let him get close to his victims before he anaesthetised them, bringing them back to his caravan, where they would awake to find themselves bound and at his mercy. He would finally get to have his fun, mentally and physically torturing them, their screams fuelling him, before being lost in the night.

Once their strength was at its lowest, he would carefully examine their fingers, searching for the prettiest, running them over his tongue to find the tastiest. Once he found the best, he would cut it from their hand and proudly add it to his collection, disposing of the rest of the body as pointless waste.

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Men, women, young, old, he didn't care. The essence of a good collection is in the variety, in the memories and stories they evoke.

He removed the costume less and less, shedding his old personality with it, fully embracing the clown, his true self.

With time, he became complacent and sloppy. A victim managed to work free of her bindings while he was sleeping off the drink. She escaped, screaming for help, and he awoke to find the rest of the circus bearing down on him. He whipped his horse and the caravan disappeared into the night.

Since then he has roamed the country, a parasite who could always be found at a carnival or circus, but who would never be seen on any playbill. He lured those brave, or foolish enough, to come near, trapped them and moved on before they could be found missing.

Somewhere along the way, he left the ordinary roads of the United States behind him, travelling through a veil of mist and entering a new realm. It was a place of transience and impermanence, perfectly suiting the life he had chosen to lead. Feeling more at home than he had in his entire life, he set up camp and waited for his first visitor.

[video=youtube;Ztx3Ryo_nY4]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ztx3Ryo_nY4[/video]