Richard's Redoubt

Richard's Redoubt

You make your way into a crudely-constructed fortress to find a tall, bald man busily tinkering with something at a cluttered workbench.

He turns to you as you enter.

"You don't look like a hobo, so you don't look like my enemy. So if you're not my enemy, you must be the enemy of my enemy. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so I guess you're welcome here."

He turns back to his workbench.

---

Who are you?

"Me? I'm Richard. They used to call me Shannon, but that was a long time ago. Different place, different world.

Now I'm Richard. Just Richard."

---

What are you doing down here?

"When I found myself over here, I got a job workin' the railyards in Seaside Town. I'm sure it could've gone differently, but without Harry to tell me what to do, I had to take what I could get. Big guy, no identification, hardly any memory, I didn't have a lot of options.

I was workin' as a bull. Security, like. Keepin' the hobos off of the trains, that kind of thing.

After a while, though, they realized that there weren't actually any trains. Those tracks, y'know, they don't actually go anywhere. So they fired me.

The next few days are sort of a blur. I spent the rest of my last paycheck at the Typical Tavern, and each night I'd stumble back to town and sleep in the gutter. One day, though, I didn't wake up in the gutter. I woke up down here.

I never did figure out what this place is, exactly, but I know who lives here -- hobos. Hundreds and hundreds of 'em. Even though I'm not a railyard bull any more, I still hate 'em.

I'm not strong enough to deal with 'em on my own, but I've got my tricks. There are steam tunnels all throughout this place. The hobos don't know about 'em, but I do -- I know every inch of 'em like the back of my hand.

I stay out of sight, and I build traps, and I bide my time."

---

Is there anything I can do to help?

"You look pretty tough. Tougher than me, that's for sure. I think you stand a chance against 'em head on. Go in there and knock 'em down, kid. Knock 'em down, and I'll help you to whatever extent I can.

You can also help me out in here, if you want to. I've learned to make pretty good bandages -- these slobs leave rags all over the place, but it takes time for me to clean 'em and get 'em woven together right. Or you could help me make some riot grenades. They'll knock any hobo out for a while, but it takes a real steady hand to make 'em."

And I can occasionally summon up the strength to knock one of the hobos around a little bit, but I need protein shakes to give me the energy it takes to make a real difference. I make 'em here in this antique hand-cranked blender.

Richard currently has X bandages.

Help Richard make bandages

Richard currently has X grenades.

Help Richard make grenades.

Richard currently has X protein shakes.

Help Richard make protein shakes

Oh, and if you bring me enough hobo bits, I can put together a scarehobo. A scarehobo is a... well, it's about what you'd expect from the name.

Richard has X pairs of charred hobo boots.

Richard has X pairs of frozen hobo eyes.

Richard has X piles of stinking hobo guts.

Richard has X creepy hobo skull.

Richard has X hobo skins.

When creating the scarehobo: Richard quickly assembles a bunch of hobo parts into a crude simulacrum of a hobo. He props it up on a pole and carries it out into the Town Square. He comes back five minutes later with a grin on his face.

"Oh man, you should've seen it. They all walked up, saying 'Hey man, how's it goin'?' and them BLAM!"

He giggles maniacally.