How Everlore Hollow Started

The Frustration

It began with something I've felt since I was a kid.

I remember reading fantasy novels late at night under my covers and feeling this specific, nagging ache. I didn't just want to read about the feast in the Great Hall, I wanted to taste the Chocolate Frogs (I was a weird kid)

I wanted to reach through the page and drag the world out into reality.

That feeling never really went away. It just waited.

But First, a Detour (or Several)

I should probably back up. Because the path from "kid who wanted to live inside books" to "guy who now ships handcrafted fantasy artifacts from his parents' house" was not a straight line.

It involved the Navy, a philosophy degree, robots, a tea shop, and approximately 2,190 miles of hiking.

The Navy Taught Me to Write

I joined the Navy in 2012 as a photojournalist. Trained at DINFOS — the Defense Information School — where they teach you that every image tells a story and every story carries weight.

I was on a ship. Deployed twice to the Middle East. But the job also gave me the chance to see the world — Spain, Greece, Israel, Dubai. I spent seven years learning how to capture moments and turn them into something that made people feel something.

That's where I learned to write. Not in a classroom. On a ship, under deadline, trying to make people care about things happening thousands of miles from home.

I got out in 2019.

Then I Walked for Five Months

Yes, I had just fallen again, for the 1,023,984,247 time. I'm clumsy, but we'll touch on that later

When I left the Navy, I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail.

2,190 miles. Five months. Just me, a backpack, and more time to think than I'd ever had in my life.

No phone notifications. No emails. No distractions. Just walking and thinking.

I don't know how to explain what that does to your brain except to say: it rearranges things. You come out the other side seeing differently.

Robots (Yes, Really)

After the trail, I needed a job. I applied to be an office manager at a startup robotics company called SVT Robotics.

They rejected me.

So I started a video production business and pitched them my services instead. They hired me to make help desk videos — tutorials on how to use the robots.

Then COVID hit.

Everyone went home except me. Robots kept getting delivered to the Innovation Lab, but there were no engineers around to set them up for filming. The guy who hired me asked if I could read.

I said yes.

He sent me an email with a very long manual.

By the time I finished recording all the videos, I knew how to operate every robot in the lab. They hired me to run it.

I went from rejected office manager to running the Innovation Lab, doing everything from writing scripts to coding robots to work together. I also finished my philosophy degree during this time, because apparently I like making things harder for myself.

I was there from 2019 to 2023.

A Tea Shop Called Potted

In 2023, I opened a tea and plant café in Norfolk, Virginia. It was called Potted.

Running a café teaches you things. Mostly that you are clumsy and the universe will prove it repeatedly. I have a camera roll full of evidence — gallons of jam on the floor, jugs of popping boba exploding in slow motion, sticky substances I didn't even know existed finding their way onto every surface.

But it also taught me how to build something people want to come back to. A space. An experience. A feeling.

The café was stressful. Writing became my escape.

Late at night, after closing, I'd sit down and work on a story I couldn't get out of my head. Something dark and gritty and emotional. It would eventually become Echoes of the Crucible.

The Moment

One night, I was writing a scene — Myra, my protagonist, in a room that smelled like herbs and smoke, holding an artifact that could change everything.

And that old frustration came back.

I didn't want people to just read this. I wanted them to survive it.

Then came the thought:

What if I stopped writing a book and started building an experience?

The Chaos

Next thing I knew, I was learning how to engrave metal at 2 a.m.

I started designing artifacts. Physical objects that matched the story. Things you could hold.

I told a few people about the idea. Not to pitch them — just because I was excited. Their reactions surprised me. They weren't politely interested. They were in.

So I launched preorders.

Sold out in a month.

Going All In

That was the moment. When strangers were paying for something that didn't fully exist yet, I knew I couldn't treat this like a side project.

I started planning to close Potted. I moved back in with my parents to save on rent while I built this thing. (Yes, I'm a grown man living with his parents, building a fantasy subscription box empire from my childhood bedroom. The dream is alive.)

I needed help. I needed someone who was crafty, artistic, and wouldn't think I was insane for wanting to hand-pour candles that smell like fictional locations.

Enter Cheyenne.

Cheyenne

Cheyenne was running her own café when I told her about Everlore Hollow.

She didn't think I was crazy. She loved it immediately.

She's an artist. An actress at heart. She cosplays, devours fantasy novels, and has strong opinions about fictional characters. She's exactly the person you want helping you build a world.

Now she's my partner — in the business and in life. She pours the candles. She blends the teas. She's the one in the unboxing video showing you what actually shows up at your door.

The scent of an alchemist's workshop? That's her. Lavender, palo santo, and sage. She nailed it on the third try.

What It Is Now

Everlore Hollow is tiny.

It's just me and Cheyenne, making everything by hand. No giant team. No factory. No investors. Just two people in a room surrounded by wax, tea leaves, and half-finished artifacts, trying to build a bridge between your world and ours.

Here's what we actually send you:

A dark fantasy story told over 12 months with every detail designed to pull you into the Crucible.

You steep the tea your characters are drinking. You light a candle that smells like where they are. You hold the artifacts they're holding. You open sealed envelopes when the story tells you to.

By the end, you don't just have a completed book. You have a shelf full of objects from a place that doesn't exist. A collection of memories from a world you survived.

Why I'm Telling You This

Because I think you should know who's on the other side.

When your box shows up, it wasn't packed by a warehouse. It was packed by me or Cheyenne, probably while listening to a podcast about medieval alchemy or arguing about whether a certain character deserved what happened to them in Chapter 7.

This isn't a corporation. It's two people who wanted to make something that didn't exist yet.

And now it does.

Welcome to the Hollow.

— Travis
Founder, Everlore Hollow