Well, it cured the writer's block, but not with the right story. So I thought I'd post it because it's short and I wondered what kind of opinions it might get. ^.^
I really only stumbled upon it by accident – the old, worn stone was half buried in the ground that had risen around it, the other half covered in the moss and leaves that had grown over in the years since it had been placed there.
It was a simple fixture, which, I’m sure, is why I’d never found it before (despite my often visitation to this area) and why no one else had stumbled upon the ancient stone either.
I don’t think anyone has stood before it in many years.
The gray of the rock has been worn ragged, chipped in many places, cracked in others, but mostly just jagged from the elements. That was how I found it in the first place; its rough outer surface caught on my trousers as I passed by, tearing the soft, earthly coverings from its exterior.
That was when I recognized it for what it was – more than just a plant-covered rock, it was a forgotten part of this world’s history: an ancient stone long lost to those who buried it: a grave left in the memory of a loved hero and villain.
And it read:
the King of Thieves