So yeah, these games are fuckin' awesome, if I don't write something I'll go insane. So I've watched, endless amounts of lore video's, played the fuck out of DS2, watched roughly 4 walkthroughs of DS1, this shit has me hooked, hard. So I'll be using tidbits of Fan-Cannon as well as actual cannon, just some forewarning.

Suggest a pairing.

Stats:

Vit:15
Attu:13
End:20
Str: 18
Dex: 22
Res:12
Int: 20
Fth: 10

Also, it's up to you guys how this pans out, character wise. If you want him to rock two hander and a shield, let me know, hell we could throw it so he's like the second coming of Artorias. Otherwise I'll just decide and you don't get your own say, and can't complain later.

His backstory will be revealed as the story progresses, so don't freak out about that.

Also fun fact, Menma in this is about the size of normal Ornstein, because I feel like it.

Also-Also, Gwyndolin has tits. Yeah.

Trap or no, tits.

My dick is confused. So incredibly confused.

Start.

Dark red eyes gazed at the rotten stone walls of the Undead Asylum, a hood casting his face in shadow, the only visible part of his face was the creased edges of his frowning mouth, his jaw was lined with a scruffy black beard, how long had he been there?

How long since he'd been branded with that fucking black ring, that ring that sat tauntingly upon his right hand, at first he just stared at it, this land, this curse, it was all so strange and confusing to him, but he hated this curse more than anything else in his life, because of all the attachments that came with this damned thing.

The second someone saw it, he was hunted and thrown into this damned celled, it added insult to metaphorical injury at the fact that he was surrounded by midgets, seriously why was everyone so small? Almost all of those whom he'd encountered merely came up to his elbow at best. It creeped him the fuck out, like being taken prisoner by children.

Not that he really had any previous experience of such an event.

"The second I figure out how the fuck to get out of here, I'm going to kill those damned tiny people…" Grumbled the lost Shinobi, this world. So different, yet similarities existed, Pyromancy for instance was greatly similar to Katon Jutsu, Sorcery was similar to Chakra Manipulation and 'Miracles', depending on which one you used, had similar effects to Raiton Jutsu and Medical Jutsu, that Lightning Spear was a wonder to see used.

Apparently it required one to have great faith in 'the gods' or more particular, Lord Gwyn, whom built the city of Anor Londo 'City of the Gods'.

Sure it was.

Whether it was true or not didn't really matter, in any case people could throw lightning spears and that was awesome as fuck, 'God-Magic' or no.

Going back to his height advantage it was also a massive fucking clue to the locals as to whom he was, the 'Cloak Giant', pfft wankers.

How come he couldn't get out? You might be asking, perhaps? Because of the curse, it withered his muscles and drained his chakra rapidly, if he could perhaps reverse the affects his body would be a useable weapon once more, unfortunately at the moment however, he was fucked.

That was until the ceiling fell in on itself, and a corpse came clattering into his cell, "The fuck..?" Muttered the red eyed man, looking up he saw a Knight, donned in the 'Elite Knight Armour' of Astora, Menma got around, and when he could read up on the world.

The Knight merely nodded to him before running off, Menma spotted a key upon the corpse, "Why not just throw in the key asshole?" Grunted the Uzumaki lowly, it would cause less noise and be more efficient than wasting energy on breaking the ceiling.

Getting up the Uzumaki dusted himself off and pushed those thoughts aside, now he could get out, so why the fuck not. Swiping the key from corpse he opened his cell and proceeded out of his prison, stretching to his full height he heard the cracks of his bones and the stiffness of his muscles, "Oh Lord Gwyn help me." He mocked to the sky, pulling off his hood revealing a long mane of spikey black locks that fell past his shoulders.

He began jogging, trying his best to restore usage to his legs and arms as quickly as possible, it wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be, running up the stairs he saw the Asylum demon in his peripherals trudging through the courtyard, Menma passed a squatting 'feral' Hollow in the dirty water.

It was passive so Menma didn't attack it, but its empty eye-sockets followed him eerily as he passed through the room, cloak flapping and fluttering with each successive step, climbing a ladder he left the sewer-esque area and into one of the two courtyards.

Skipping forward a little Menma dodged a rolling stone ball that fell down some stairs and smashed open a cell behind him, Menma ducked into it in hopes of luring in the archer, his scavenged longsword held in his right hand, "Oh…Your now Hollow are you..?" Asked a voice.

Menma's gaze fell to the same Knight from before, though he lay on a bed of rubble, a hole through the roof casting him in a light, 'The imagery is ridiculous.' Thought Menma, the light shone upon the man like he was some kind of saint.

"Please…I'm not long for this world. I'll die, lose my sanity and go Hollow. Will you listen to what I have to say..?" The slight plead in the man's tone made Menma sigh, running a hand down his leathery face Menma sheathed his longsword, the grip peeking over his right shoulder, he walked towards the man and nodded.

"You have very interesting eyes." Started the man, observing the last living being he'd ever see. Menma merely frowned slightly, "There is a legend passed down in my family, a prophecy. Thou who art undead art chosen, in thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of ancient lords when thou ringeth the bells of awakening, the fate of the undead thou shalt know. There you go, I can die with hope in my heart…Here take these, and this key." Menma grasped the satchel, within it were 5 flasks, one was emerald the remaining four were filled with an orange liquid.

Menma stared at the man as he held a key out, Menma couldn't see his face but the amount of pity he felt for this man slowly grew, "What is your name, rescuer?" Asked Menma, gently as he could with his voice roughened and guttural.

"I am Oscar, Knight of Astora, and you…Friend? What is your name?"

"Menma Uzumaki, wanderer."

"You must be of a different land, I would have liked…To know you more, friend. But you must go. I don't want to harm you when I turn." Menma did as asked, got up and left the room, the pouch he tied to his right hip, the sound of a sword slicing through flesh rand through his ears.

Ducking back into the broken cell Menma found Oscar, sword in his chest; apparently he wanted to end it quickly, "If you're not going to use it. I will." A simple law of survival; take what you can acquire at any time. And in this world, with its trying nature, Menma would do nothing if not survive.

Pulling the sword free from its previous owner chest he inspected it, it was a broader blade than his longsword, and the handle to was a slight longer, so he could hold it easier, relieving Oscar of his shield Menma left the man's body alone, no need to take armour that wouldn't fit anyway.

Now armed with two blades and a shield Menma strode back up the stairs, his new blade in hand, and shield up front, the Hollow archer's arrows bouncing off harmlessly, his blade found purchase, it cut through the dead man like a hot knife to butter, and already it had a larger improvement upon the longsword.

Opening the door he was greeted once more to the sight of Hollows, Menma parried the strike of one and ran it through pushing far enough that he was next to the other, grabbing the feral hollow by the head he slammed it into the impaled one, and by doing so, crushed its soft skull.

Withdrawing his blade Menma hooked his shield onto his back and withdrew his longsword, peeking around the corner he saw the final feral around here, another archer, an arrow was loosed and struck the crumbling brick wall beside him, dashing forth Menma stabbed both blades into its chest and tore outwards, tearing the midsection and ribcage to nothing short of overkill.

The souls of the banished fled into his body, Menma was initially put-off by such a thing, but it didn't seem to do anything to him, so let it be. Not that he really could do anything about it, he knew that the people of this land used Soul's as a currency, to craft items, to do various things, but he had never been able to 'use' the souls he'd gathered here, after getting the sign. He'd have to actually swallow his pride and speak up it seemed.

"A fog gate…" Menma knew of these strange phenomena, strange to him commonplace to the locals it seemed, the fog gates usually sealed off by the power of a being within, the fog was essentially a glorified trap standing up fully once more, having to hunch over considerably to pass through the doors of the Asylum, Menma sighed loudly as he heard the cracks and pleased stretching of his spinal cord.

"I welcome death." He mumbled as he walked in, the mist drifted around his extended hand as he walked in, immediately he was given the sight of the Asylum, particularly the body of the demon, on the ground, glowing in orange, how didn't he see these before?

Lung down upon this being for massive damage.

It was strange, but hey, he'd planned to do it anyway, why not humour the orange text on the ground, whipping out his blades Menma held them in a reverse grip, with a silent leap he fell, thrusting harshly his blades met the leathery skin of the Asylum Demon, one blade went right through its skull, the other through its shoulder, the demon was stunned still, its body stiff as all of its internal systems shut down in a millisecond.

Dead.

It collapsed against the ground, Menma jumped off its shoulders, only Oscar's sword came out, the other broke as he attempted to tug it. Frowning slightly he watched as the demon exploded into a shower of ashen mist, its soul and power surging into Menma's body, he felt invigorated his body became less corpse-like, his skin returning to a healthier pale shade and his muscles regrowing slightly, he still looked dead, just not like beef jerky dead.

A key shot from the middle of the ashen mist and towards him, without a thought he caught it in his gloved hand, the key was quite large, but he knew which door it opened, that door just so happened to be directly behind him, the only thing between him and freedom.

Sheathing Oscar's blade, he'd just call the sword Oscar from now on to save precious thought time, he slid the key into the brass lock, once more having to bend down a slight to do so, but as he walked out and towards the top of the overlook he took a deep breath, the crisp, slightly iced air of the Asylum Peak entering his nostrils, he held out his arms and caught the winds in an embrace.

"Freedom, it's never tasted so-FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" A massive crow shot up, black feathers falling around him as it grabbed him in his talons, his world was covered in an oppressive shadow as his consciousness faded.

His last thoughts were 'I fucking hate this land.'

End.

So tell me what you guys think, honestly this story needs to be written, I had massive hope that Dark Souls would get a massive pick-up in fanfic's after DS2 was released, I was unimpressed with the result.

So here's my contribution.

As to Menma's height, find out later.
Oscar stayed dead like in Canon because of the fact that he said that he could feel his end coming, he could feelthe final part of his hollowfication, so please no unhappiness, an Estus Flask wouldn't have saved ol' Oscar.

Raxychaz.