The Hollow

Lotham

Nom watched a number of townsfolk filter into the building after them. As he considered whether to follow and sup at the inn, a muscular man came into view, long hair tied back, wearing a sleeveless shirt and leather apron. The man raised an arm and a smile in greeting. Nom smiled back and said, "'Evening Phylo. How was the smithy today?"

"Not as interesting as your day," Phylo nodded his head at the inn.

"Another batch, including a seer."

"Legit?"

"Hard to say yet." Brightening up with a hopeful grin, Nom asked, "What does your lovely wife have on the stove tonight?" He had room and board in the back of Phylo's home as part of the smithy complex, and Casey always outdid herself.

"Chicken soup. Apple pie. But before you join us, Lotham stopped by; wants to see you. That's why I'm out and about. He seemed nervous."

Nom frowned. "Not sure if that's better than his usual surliness. I'll catch him at his shop." Lotham was the head of the town council, and rarely spoke a kind word, especially regarding Nom, whom he viewed as a carpetbagging transient despite Nom's decade of residence in Elocant. "Don't wait for me," he added.

Phylo gave him a sympathetic nod. "I'll have Casey save you a bowl."

"And a slice!" Nom pointed at Phylo and smiled as they parted ways. Nom walked down the darkening street, his frown gradually taking over as he approached the outfitter's. He had an inkling what this was about.

Elocant had once been a very distant and self-reliant locale consisting mostly of farmers and ranchers. To them, the rest of the world was largely unnecessary and unwelcome. But as the Hollow advanced, the farmlands yielded less, and livestock would not thrive. However, due to its location on the Berm, it became a major stop for questors journeying into the wastes. This forced the town to change its economic focus, but despite Elocant's new reliance on travelers, most citizens were resentful and distrustful.

Nom had acquired an official role as the town sage, providing wisdom and guidance to those who visited. While he collected the occasional tip from travelers, he was mostly supplemented by the town as a 'feature,' and served to promote the town's businesses. But he gave priority to serving the actual needs of the visitors. He might suggest where to find food sources far into their journeys rather than at the local inn, warn that certain 'dangers' weren't so dangerous and didn't require the purchase of extra weapons, and so forth. It wasn't a stance that the old guard in the town appreciated.

When Nom arrived the store was closed, but he knew Lotham would be inside doing inventory. He pushed through the unlocked door into the lantern lit front chamber. He nodded to the employees wrapping up the day's accounting, who upon seeing Nom, both pointed their pens back to the warehouse door. Nom held up his hands in acknowledgement and went through.

The large wooden warehouse was still hot and stuffy from the day's heat, despite the open windows. Dust shimmered in one last ray of the setting sun perfectly shining through a break in the distant trees visible though the open loading doors. Walking past, Nom squinted and shielded his eyes as he tried to find Lotham in the darkness beyond.

"Lotham?" he said loudly. "Phylo said you were looking for me."

He heard an unintelligible but unmistakably cranky reply from a distant corner of the large room. Following the trajectory of the voice, he turned a corner and saw Lotham far down an aisle, busy counting stock and writing on a clipboard. He was a small man whose large white moustache looked thicker than his limbs.

"Good evening Lotham, I couldn't hear what you said."

Without breaking from his task Lotham said simply, "The town no longer requires your services. Your position is eliminated."

Nom stopped his advance, the reverberating last click of his walking stick giving way to the light scratching of Lotham's pen on paper. After a minute of near silence, Lotham paused, dug around in the pouches of his apron, pulled out a coin purse and threw it toward Nom. A small clink punctuated the quiet where it landed.

"A week's severance."

Nom resumed his advance with a dark expression clouding his face, stepping over the coin purse towards Lotham, whose haughty demeanor changed to nervous fear as Nom approached. Nom stopped two feet away, looked at the ground, rubbed his chin. Lotham took a step back and struggled to regather himself before continuing.

"Th-The council met last night. Over the past year there have been far fewer travelers journeying through Elocant, and we need to shift to our agrarian roots to prosper. We are sure the Berm is overdue to move, and the lands will open up again."

"But the lands are not opening up, Lotham. It's true there is more free space because the Berm is farther away, but Elocant is on the wrong side of it now. It's folly to use that land. The best hope for the town is more people and trade, not less."

"Rubbish! Just look around: the farms turn to dust, or are so overgrown one can barely walk through them. It's superstitious fear keeping people from working the fields, and neglect from the wider Trade Consortium, not some hocus pocus legend. You profess to not even see the Berm; I cannot fathom why you're not with me on this."

The Berm was marked by a visible dip in the landscape, a clear delineation between the Hollow and the normal lands. Nom could not see it, and figured it was an optical illusion, the first indication of the Hollow's effects.

"I don't need to see the Berm to know its impact. The crops have failed because of the Hollow, not from any failing on our part or conspiracy from our wider trading partners."

"Enough! You've been a thorn in my side on this issue for years. Any more 'sage wisdom' for travelers will be provided by the innkeepers. Take your severance or leave it; I care not. Farewell."

The two men stared at one another with something just short of anger until Nom let his shoulders slump and turned around. He walked back the way he came, pausing only to kneel and grab the coins.

Nom stood outside Lotham's, gazing absently at the flickering lights of the street lamps. He wasn't sure if there were too many thoughts in his head, or too few, but he knew where to go so it wouldn't matter. He had been looking forward to Casey's dinner and Phylo's company, but the tavern was much closer.