Tyler Curran
Bio
I'm brand new to the shared writing scene. I've written stories since late middle school but the only feedback I've had is from family, so I'm hoping that having more people to look at my writing will help me grow as a writer.
Stories (7)
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One Fandom to rule them all
Now, despite the title of this piece, I am not referring to Lord of the Rings. I am, however, paying homage to it, as it is the fiery forge in which the fandom I am rooting for was created; crafted by steeled hands and precision tools in an era that came to fear its popularity. I am of course referring to Dungeons and Dragons.
By Tyler Curran4 years ago in Geeks
Only Time will tell
I remember the day that we almost lost our home, our kingdom. We were a small regime; our cities not spanning more than a few miles, and our population not over a few thousand. Compared to the large clans that ruled over the various parts of the continent, we were miniscule. But we were proud. Our leader, my father, was a brilliant man. He refused to be referred to as 'King', saying that it was a title fit for those who abused the power they wielded. He instead asked to be referred to as our leader or the head of our kingdom when asked by an outsider, but would prefer that his populace simply refer to him by his name, Theodin. Our people loved him, and over time our society flourished. We were seated near the edge of the ocean, on the southern border of the Aturusk clan's dominion. Using this, we managed a great dual trade system; a sea based trade from sailors coming in and out, and a fishing trade for merchants that would inevitably pass through our lands in order to reach the capitol city. We became quite wealthy, though Theodin never used the money for himself, instead dispersing it back amongst the communities through renovations or festivals. We lived in the port city Ultusk, in the old manor that used to belong to the members of the Aturusk clan before they moved to the new capitol. Theodin was not thrilled about it, as he did not want others to see him as above them, but the populace was okay with it, even pushing him to take it early on in his regime. In truth, however, it was the Aturusk clan themselves, and more specifically Gwylmach Aturusk himself, who had asked us to take up residence of the old manor. In the back garden, there was a very large, old tree that was said to have been there for over a millennia. Gwylmach asked us to care for it while we lived there, as it was a living legend. We agreed, and cared for it for as long as we could.
By Tyler Curran4 years ago in Fiction
The Eternal Protector
I remember the first time I met her. The year was 1327, several months after the brutal rise of King Edward III. We, however, resided in the much smaller kingdom of Moldavia. While we were separate from the English regime, our king had decided to follow most of their doctrines and ideals in the hopes of someday being welcomed into the blossoming empire. Though normal day to day life was not much affected, it meant there were a few strict rules regarding certain practices amongst the citizenry. Witchcraft, in a broad sense, or any practice thereof that could possibly threaten the safety (as King Bertholemey put it, however we knew that 'safety' meant his status) of the kingdom and its King. There were not many among our small kingdom folk that dared practice such things beforehand; however, with the threat of death looming over those practices, they became impossible to find. Which leads me to how I met her.
By Tyler Curran4 years ago in Fiction
Slumbering Legends
Maryl was shaken awake by the bump of the train car, causing her head to clang painfully against the bars of the cage that surrounded her. Stifling a yelp, she brought up her chained hands to gently rub the spot that had been hit. Maryl peeked out the window, past the man that sat next to her, to see the vast desert of orange and iron that they were currently travelling through. They had been on the train for three days now, along with however many other people their captors had gathered from the outer colonies. Maryl was surprised she had managed to get some sleep, as most of the other prisoners were generally cantankerous. She shifted in her seat to a better position as the man beside her stirred. Of all the prisoners on the train, there were three different types that Maryl had noticed. One, the majority of them, were the loud, the angry, and the confrontational. Most of these people were criminals, being transported from one prison camp to the prison in the capitol, which is more secure. The second type were like her; children, elderly, and those that were ill. The children and elderly were being sent to the capitol to be put into work camps, something that Maryl dreaded from the stories she’d heard. Maryl didn’t know where the ill went, as no one would give her a straight answer when she had asked. The third type, and whom Maryl believed the man sitting next to her to be, were veterans. Those who had fought during the Great War and had survived, but unfortunately had fought on the losing side. The victors banished them to the outer colonies, but every so often would bring some of them back into the capitol as prisoners. To what end, Maryl did not know, but it couldn’t be anything good.
By Tyler Curran4 years ago in Fiction
Trophies of the past
Mark sat on the top step of the staircase leading up to his porch, the light drizzle of mid-October rain beginning to patter onto the ground around him. A chilled breeze passed through the air, causing Mark to shiver for just a moment. His eyes continuously darted from one end of the street to another, waiting for her car to arrive. Just as he was looking down the western end of the street, the familiar beat up red of Jess's '97 convertible turned his way and began approaching.
By Tyler Curran4 years ago in Horror
The Green Light
Micah opened his eyes to find himself in his bedroom, seated at the edge of the bed while his mother loomed over him. She was unhappy, her words echoing disappointment and anger, though Micah was having trouble hearing what they were. Something about throwing glass bottles over their neighbors fence to shatter, but he couldn't be sure. Micah could feel the tears down his face, his body heaving with sobs, though he couldn’t hear them. The air around felt numb almost; a slow pitched buzz filling the space where normal sounds should be. Additionally, though Micah could feel his body heaving with clear sadness, he did not feel it. It was like a first person view of a silent movie. Outside, from the corner of his eye, Micah could see the rain pouring down, a flash of lightning momentarily blinding the room. That flash of electricity must have cut the power, as there was no light save for what little bled through the dark clouds outside. Micah’s mother left for a moment, and Micah watched as a beam of light from a flashlight lit an area outside his door, slowly growing as his mother approached. When she turned the corner, the light shone into Micah’s eyes, but it was green instead of white. He instinctively closed his eyes and covered his face, the darkness and silence becoming oppressive and overwhelming. For an instant, there was a flash of images; a steering wheel, a street, a car, a dashboard, before returning to darkness once more.
By Tyler Curran4 years ago in Fiction
