STRANGERS

Nope. Think of it as being an eldritch nightmare hidden from the rest of the world that only a select few (the sensitives) are able to see. The eldritch nightmares usually do not take kindly to those who are able to notice them. It's more of a survival/cosmic horror kinda deal, with demonic horrors that wan'the to do horrible things to you most of the time, for absolutely no discernible reason.

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That's the end of the Dead Cities module. Now onto Module 2

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Any info on those things?

Or as truly lovecraftian monsters we are not meant to know more on them?

Oh. So, eldritch pokemon, then.

I am defintiely f5ing the hell out of my keyboard, user.

They are sort of like phenomena that take the shape of life-forms, having regimented behaviors and reactions. There are strangers that follow car accidents and strangers that live miles below the earth. Some strangers know far too much and some strangers make you vomit. There are certain people who can see them, but they often go unnoticed.
This is the bestiary.
strangers.atrocityland.com/

That description reminds of Mushishi. In fact, it's pretty damn similar except at the base level, where mushi are very primitive life forms.

Since this is Module 2 I 1think- this is the one with Lindoni in it. Which is all sorts of -fun-. But here's Murodroze, which causes wood splinters to form in the lungs (and in certain other body parts with specific individuals) of sensitives upon physical contact.

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>When a sensitive looks into the trasodroni's surface, their reflection is not a perfect mirror image, but instead resembles an exact copy of the observer that mimics their every motion. Reflections rarely blink, but when they do blink, these movements are not in sync with the blinks of the person being mimicked. Despite this, individuals who look at their reflection only briefly, or who do not make any quick movements, rarely notice anything amiss about their reflection. Quick motions, however, throw off the trasodroni — if the onlooker suddenly waves their hand, for example, the reflection in the trasodroni's surface may take a moment to catch up.

>When a sensitive stares at their reflection in the trasodroni's surface for more than a few minutes, they run the risk of losing the ability recognize their own face when they look in the mirror or at photographs or videos of themselves.

>This absence of familiarity extends to mental visualizations as well, and affected individuals lose the ability to remember what they look like at all. Although they are able to remember the presence of certain details (i.e. hair color and length, eye and skin color), they are not able to piece these details together into a cohesive, familiar mental image. Affected individuals may either avoid looking at their face altogether, or may grow more and more obsessed with their appearance in the futile hope of gaining self-recognition once more.

>The severity of this unfamiliarity correlates with the length of time spent looking into the trasodroni's surface. Individuals stare at their reflection for only a few minutes are able to eventually shake this feeling of unfamiliarity, while those individuals who have gazed at their reflection for a prolonged period of time are never able to recognize their own face again, no matter how long they study the details.

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>The tanzidroni (/'tænsJdroʊni/) is a mulberry-colored stranger with a thick, dark head and tail, and human-like limbs ending in pointed, tapered fingers. Its skin is fleshy in texture, but carries no outward warmth; the tanzidroni's foamy inner substance is similarly lukewarm. This internal tissue appears to glisten with particles or sediment, becoming scintillating to the light. The tanzidroni possesses a small inner cavity, less than three inches in diameter at the widest point, filled with black, rag-like tissues which are not connected to the tanzidroni's inner walls. These structures shrivel apart when exposed to air, and grow over the course of the tanzidroni's life, eventually filling this cavity.

>Although not possessing a strong odor under normal circumstances (smelling only of vinyl), under prolonged exposure, the tanzidroni takes on a sickly tinge of artificial fragrances and the by-products from cigarette smoke. When cut, these odors become more pronounced1, with the tanzidroni's injured flesh occasionally exuding a white blood, as well. The strain heals itself only intermittently, and with scarring that spreads outward considerably from the point of injury.

>The tanzidroni's voice is high in pitch. Its language varies depending on external circumstances, sounding either soft and soothing, or ratcheting and spit-clogged. Although recognizably human, it is noticeably factitious when speaking in the latter tone; a distorted facsimile of speech forced out through a plastic container and resonating through thin rubber tissues

they all look the goddamn same fuck you

Not really, no. We haven'the even reached the Red Module yet.
>The zinvinzidrinzi (/zJnˈvJnzəˌdɹJnzi/) is a grey and cyan colored, two-dimensional stranger that appears inside walls. Though embedded within a solid plane (and doing so without overt destruction of the space in which it appears), the zinvinzidrinzi is not holographic, and feels papery or paint-like when touched. Its size varies depending upon the size of the wall in which it appears, as does its number of legs (with most individuals possessing two to six sets of four legs). The zinvinzidrinzi's odor is like vinyl, but noticeable only at a distance of less than several inches. It leaves this smell behind on the hand of anyone who touches it, but does not taint its environment with this odor

>The zinvinzidrinzi's form is highly susceptible to changes within its environment. Prolonged exposure to temperatures above 75°F causes it to dry out and flake apart, while moisture makes it grow soggy and soft. It is as flammable as paper, and has only inconsequential regenerative ability, with tears in its form closing up only by millimeters over several years.

>environment and generation- The zinvinzidrinzi appears within the walls of large buildings, preferring places with daily shifts in activity as opposed to prolonged human contact. Offices, museums, and malls are common sites for a zinvinzidrinzi infestation, while apartments, hotels, police stations or dormitories are not.

>interactions with sensitives- The zinvinzidrinzi's containment within walls makes it difficult to interact with directly, but physical contact can be achieved when a sensitive partially tears down the walls in which the stranger lives, taking care to do so bit-by-bit so as not to frighten the easily-disturbed zinvinzidrinzi or destroy its body in the process.

plot twist: you play as a stranger and not as a human

This is neat and all, but I can't really think of any way to make most of them anything more than background details or psycho spiritual fauna.

Would be a really fuck ingredients weird game considering how most strangers act.
>Physical contact with the zinvinzidrinzi causes repetitive and involuntary motions, such as a clenching or unclenching of the hand, a rotating of the finger, a shaking of the arm, or a turning of the wrist. These motions tend to be localized to the arms and legs, but facial muscle spasms or clenching of the jaw is observed in a small minority. These tics persist for ten to seventeen months, growing weaker (but not disappearing completely) during sleep, and with recurrent flare-ups in the years that follow onset.

>These muscle spasms occur in tandem with short-term memory problems, although the extent of these issues varies. Some individuals display only minor difficulties remembering small details about their lives, and become unable to recall the exact sequence of events that take place during a day, for example, or displaying difficulty re-telling the narrative of short stories or movies. Other individuals, however, are more severely affected, to the extent of being unable to count to ten or finish their sentences, let alone function in the world.

>When killed by a sensitive, the zinvinzidrinzi's body becomes reflective1, a response that does not occur during death by other means.

>The finidreni (/ˈfJnJdɹɛni/) is a stranger no larger than an adult human hand, with four small and rounded tendrils, two longer, red-hand-tipped appendages, and a smiling, toothless mouth. Its flesh is light in color and exceptionally greasy when exposed to air, but maintains an almost sponge-like composition when within the confines of the finidreni's smooth and soft skin. It possesses only a single structure of coiled or spiraling intestinal tubing within its body, which starts at a point just between the eyes and continues to past its midsection; hollow and pristine, these organs, like its flesh, lack odor altogether.

>The finidreni's voice is high-pitched and childlike, and it speaks through a simple language formed through experimentation and repetition, the phonetic palette varying between individuals. Still, speech tends to be restricted to moments of particularly exquisite happiness, with squeals and giggles accounting for the majority of the finidreni's frequent expulsions.

>The finidreni is most prevalent in hot or arid climates, finding a home within high-ceilinged rooms, near undecorated walls, or beneath rarely-touched ceilings held high with long columns.

>The finidreni starts off very small, and travels in loops during this formative stage (during which it lacks any characteristic effects). It takes only a few hours to reach full size, and which point it becomes fully erratic in its wandering.

>Behaviour- Just slower than a songbird and far more haphazard, the puckish finidreni moves with a flickering playfulness, its explorations fanciful but rapid, with this stranger never staying in the same location for anything more than a brief and infrequent circumlocution.

>A finidreni's range can cover hundreds of square miles, if not more, and its paths can reach up to thirty miles per day.

>It does not interact with objects aside from poles or tubular shapes, which it circles or passes through in a dizzying series of spins, its interest held by everything and nothing all at once.

>Interactions with sensitives- The finidreni's presence causes a sense of intense joy and euphoria. While near the finidreni, a sensitive's problems seem not to matter, all pain seems bearable, and every detail in the world causes a sense of either deep reverence or delight.

>Despite this exceptionally beneficial effect, the finidreni itself displays no interest in sensitives except to avoid them. It moves too quickly to be caught or even pursued, and, despite its lackadaisical nature, remains shrewd in the face of traps, dead-ends, nets, or weapons, never approaching these objects by more than fifty feet.

>The dovadroni (/ˈdoʊvədrəʊni/) is a pale purple and pink stranger with rounded features. Its surface is hard, cool, and dusty to the touch, leaving a white powder behind on anything it comes in contact with. Its flesh is barely flexible, and it possesses a body cavity filled with fine, white sand. Its off-white claws are soft and chalky to the touch, and grow continuously over the course of dovadroni's life to make up for natural breakage and wear. It has a small, round hole in its back, which is lined with hard flesh, and leads into the dovadroni's body cavity. It lacks a mouth, or any other distinguishing features. The dovadroni has no particular odor beyond a vaguely chalky filling of the nostrils. While it does not make a breathing sound, its sides do rise and fall slightly in a rhythmic manner, as though inhaling and exhaling.

>While its stiff skin makes it difficult to cut open, the dovadroni can still be grievously injured by heavy blows, such as the impact from a crowbar. The dovadroni's regenerative ability is minimal, with the strain regenerating from only surface-level abrasions, and only after several weeks of dormancy. Exposure to moisture makes its flesh more flexible, without causing any harm to the dovadroni. Water evaporates from its surface at an accelerated rate, making any such periods of increased flexibility short-lived at best.

>The dovadroni is also negatively affected by sound. Any sound of over 59 decibels causes it to display slight cracks in its surface, while sounds louder than 71 decibels crumble the dovadroni outright. Damp dovadroni appear less vulnerable to loud sounds.

>The dovadroni speaks with the twinkling tones of a music box, a sound accompanied by a light, grinding whirr.

Probably gonna start on the Red Module after this. Module 2 is long, and the Red one is where all the -real- fun stuff is stored anyway.
>Environment and generation- The dovadroni appears in a wide range of locations, but prefers large, sprawling, non-residential areas, such as hospitals, universities, government buildings, and shopping malls. It generates only in quiet, low-traffic areas, such as vacant building wings, empty storefronts, locked hallways, or quiet storage rooms, but only very rarely presents itself in buildings that have been completely abandoned. It is particularly common amongst the plywood walls and clear plastic sheets of suspended construction or renovation projects, although never during ongoing construction.

>The dovadroni first emerges in a small, short-limbed form, which crawls from place to place and grows larger with a soft clanking sound, as though it were a mechanical device being wound up. It takes between two and three weeks for the dovadroni to reach full maturity.

>Behaviour and effects- The dovadroni's disposition is subdued and reclusive. It paces forward with careful, even steps, and as it moves, its chalk-like claws leave behind small white lines, thus tracing the dovadroni's path within its environment. Due to its relatively inflexible exterior, it is slow-moving, and tends to spend much of its time in a stationary position. When at rest, it fills the air with its chiming, musical voice. It tends to remain silent more often than not. There is no observable pattern to the dovadroni's vocalization, and certain individuals can even go for years without making a single sound.

>▙▘ With your hands on your head (/hɛd/), the room spills forth beneath you as you tumble-in. If you can't control your hands, your legs, you can't expect to follow-suit, and with a knee-against-floor and a bang of forehead onto blue aswell it's – your vision goes red and your teeth they chip. "Please!" It laughs without smiling or breaking its silence. "Please stay down!"
So begins the destruction of meaning.

>▜▝ As above, so below (/bəˈloʊ/); the shadows pool upwards to meet the floor, and your hand won't sink in even though it should. The things you carry can end up carrying you, and so in this place, what walks forward to meet you's something coalesced from so much more..."You–"

>▟▞ "I'm not afraid." Repeating this over(/ˈoʊ.vɚ/) and over(/ˈoʊ.vɚ/), eventually it will be made true by repetition, force of will. That's what you're counting on...and maybe this stolidity of thought will carry downward and weigh down your bile which so writhie-s'round beneath your stom'. You can't blame it, not in full; it always had more in common with the sludge at bottom of a pool or some primordial stew-n'-brew than any of this impulse-bounded nervous-wreck it found itself by-product of. Just please, you have to beg it, please don't leave me now. The thing it shambles forward and you close your eyes, imagining the blackstuff pouring out through pore and soaking up to give just that much more bulge to the mass. The doorway's just behind you and your hand claws back to find the knob; you have to close those eyes now, have to give it your-all just to focus on the brass. One turn, one turn, that's all it has to be..."I thought you said you weren't afraid..."
MOURNIRI

To be fair, with the dread dodecahedron all CoC campaigns can be pokemon/eldritch-dogfighting

>▖▟ And gracksoaklin' like none-and-all-the-rest (/ɹɛst/), pervestrizou it makes its wormy way around the edge. You want to curdle it, you know, you want to press your face on black and feel it go from smooth to lumpy-glots. Krestrievinstrous until yaronz it cries, maybe it's heard the thought and don't have time to learn the diff' 'tween inclination and intent. A smile pulls your lips up how a rat drags 'tritus underground. Like it doesn't know its limitations. Go for broke or all die trying. Undouring and jelstraving trel vriende. "Zelvouh."

>▞▞ The place you've entered now – smooth, and hot (/hɑt/), so much so that you'd be convinced you'd fallen into fever if you couldn't still touch clammy-spots on skin. The thing before you neither loops nor unloops; its naivety and innocence stands in such contrast to the red and heat out in the air. "Are you happy here?" Yes, jeering as those words are pressed between a heat and heat. That sense of superiority that fills your mouth and swallows itself downward and takes presence in your gut – that's how it has to be, for now, if you're to leave with what makes 'you' intact. "Pathetic..." Like you want to see it coil downwards from your words. And it's the one that's trapped down here, you de-cide. It's not you. "You decided...", one head nods.

I would use the strangers setting as is. In it, you play a team of sensitives hired either privately or by the government to identify stranger activity and either stop it or alert the non-sensitives so that they can work around or avoid the monster.

Because the strangers have scripted behaviors yet the toughest are so difficult to kill, it may be more practical to continue work or business around the stranger. School can continue in Spine Stealer territory because the Spine Stealer only steals spines from midnight to 4 am. What your team does is catalog and encounter strangers so that non sensitives are aware of and know how to avoid them.

With the otherworldly and odd nature of the strangers, your team may begin to have nightmares and hallucinations as you start to encourage the same "waves" as the strangers. They will start to become in places that they should not be and awakening in a red room serpents breathing down your neck and into your lungs. They go to the city and help a man but he is dead and gone the city remains with the smoke and the cold sharp wind gnawing at your tongue. S T R A N G E R S watch. The empress comes oh happy days! dissolve and join the new world!?! an abyss of snakes calls us they cry! give up your legs and swim with us for past and future!

>eldritch pokemon

How has nobody posted this yet?

This is a great idea. It also opens up so man possibilities through the various modules. Anyway, here's RINDROWNE.
>▗▜ He gave you a ring, and you'd slipped it on your finger (/ˈfJŋɡɚ/) without now thinking of the consequences. The blue of the sky and the way the water's distance made the summer-air feel much less hot's a memory that seems perverse the way it fingers its way up into your thoughts to contrast where you've fallen into now with less grace than a dream has to dissolve by light of day. Your fingernails go frantic scratch-scratch u-pon skin to claw it off; this ring, this ring! The room it glistens and mirrors the small shape in circles that flutter out like bats and then leave blue behind once more.

CALIDRINX
>▟▝ Its footsteps like a baby's heartbeat, it straps forward, head (/hɛd/) held (/ˈhɛld/) high (/haJ/). A proudsort, you're convinced to call it, lips too slick to not wish in-to-sink. The gasp it lets out isn't the thing that fills up gutgaps full o' red; the taste of juice, now that's what does it and the walls are red only when you close your eyes. It wouldn't be so bad, would it? Attempts to justify this sicky act. No, it wouldn't. You never knew the voice of conscience was a thing so literal, nor that the pull away from shoulder's angels could be so seductive; beaded too with juice as well. Ripe and flesh; to sink in arm-first and let the rest of you get gobbled up without resistance. Ripe and flesh. This one's yours, this sinful secret act. This one's put here just for you. "Come to me..." A laugh spills out, still wet, the room wraps round the red in full.

PELZARO
>▖▖ Pillars (/ˈpJlɚs/) and piles (/paJlz/); the towers for miles stretch higher than the city sprawl. The sun and sky in memory feels quilted out of cloth, just soft and lacking burn or brightness to its glow. You expect it to feel like foam; you expect it to deform slightly to your touch, but maintain resistance not out of some need to defy, but rather for the sake of durability, the way a kid's toy's built to last. You expect it to seem cooler than the room around it, some illusion lent to palm by texture, nothing more. You expect it to stay still; remembering now how you'd used the nubs of crayons to draw grass and houses, trees where wall-met-floor. You expect it not to hurt, and you expect that you'll be the one touching it. Your hand drifts closer; the skies in all their memory fade grey. Your hand touches down.

XONTURE
>▝▜ Another eye opens up each day (/deJ/), you're convinced of it.

NURTURE
>▛▜ "Thank you." Words-out whistle through teeth like gravestones. "Thank you." And a chatter, and a chatter, and a chatter; something birds would use to crack a seed. "Thank you." Grease-just-yellow makes a layer on your lips and how much dust it pulls from air, you'll never know. "Thank you." It's not a smile as those lips part wider, wider, wide. "Thank you." You lower your head and a blush starts to flush-out pink on both your cheeks. "It was really nothing." Bashful. So bashful, we've become (/bəˈkʌm/).
AND that seems to be the end of the Red Module. I might post their size images if anyone wants to see those.

Bump.

Here's the scale image for Jiaxendrezou, from the Red Module.

Scale image for Mourniri

Bump.