|Title||The Madman of Zaun|
|Real Name||Doctor "Mundo" Edmundo|
|Release Date||September 2, 2009|
|583 (+ 89)|
|8 (+ 0.75)|
|61 (+ 4.2)|
|0.72 (+ 3.3%)|
|32 (+ 3)|
|32 (+ 1.25)|
|Game Info Wiki||leagueoflegends.fandom.com|
Dr. Mundo is a champion in League of Legends.
- For outdated and now non-canon lore entries, click here.
- Story #1
- Story #2
|Utterly mad, tragically homicidal, and horrifyingly purple, Dr. Mundo is what keeps many of Zaun’s citizens indoors on particularly dark nights. Now a self-proclaimed physician, he was once a patient of Zaun’s most infamous asylum. After “curing” the entire staff, Dr. Mundo established his practice in the empty wards that once treated him and began mimicking the highly unethical procedures he had so often experienced himself. With a full cabinet of medicines and zero medical knowledge, he now makes himself more monstrous with each injection and terrifies the hapless “patients” who wander near his office.
In the wards of Zaun’s infamous asylum, a single monstrous figure roams the halls. His methods are bold, his bonesaw is sharp, and his patients are terrified. For this man is no doctor at all, except in the fancy of his own mind.
Though his true name has been lost to both time and memory, Dr. Mundo was once an enforcer for one of Zaun's most powerful chem-barons. Known for his boisterous affability, he was remarkably good-natured for a man who made his living off physical intimidation. He was always quick with a familiar nickname and a friendly clap on the back, and often blissfully unaware of the toes he was stepping on. It wasn’t long before he had stepped firmly on the toes of his boss.
Determined to make an example of his underling, the chem-baron had him committed to Osweld Asylum—a place well known for its inhumane treatment and questionable cures. The baron watched with satisfaction as his enforcer was placed in restraints and dragged away to the padded confines of the asylum’s most secure cell.
As months went by, the enforcer suffered unspeakable horrors at the hands of his supposed caregivers. Experimental treatments were rendered without concern for the patient's well-being. Nerves were prodded, lobes were severed, and unproved medicines were administered in large quantities. The enforcer began to change, his large frame gaining more muscle by the day. His brain, however, suffered a far worse fate. As he lost all memory of his past life, the enforcer struggled to make sense of the cruel world around him. He looked down at his old restraining jacket—it almost resembled the white coats of the medical professionals that surrounded him.
Misreading the words on his own uniform, he began to assume a new name and new profession for himself.
I must be a doctor, too. Why else would I be in this wretched asylum? he reasoned. And all these other people... must be my patients.
At last, the day came when the chem-baron arrived to discharge his enforcer from the asylum. To his surprise, there was no one to greet him in the lobby. The halls were empty and dead silent, save for the faint, incoherent babbling of a deranged patient in a room at the end of the hallway.
The baron entered the room to a horrifying sight: Scattered across the floor were countless bodies—staff and patients alike, dismembered beyond recognition. Standing above them, a hulking, purple monstrosity blathered unintelligibly as a large blue tongue lolled out the side of its gaping mouth. Muscles bulged grotesquely beneath its undersized garments, and its fist tightened around the handle of a surgical saw. The baron turned pale as his gaze found the face of the monster—and recognized it as his old enforcer.
The enforcer, who recalled nothing of his old boss, saw only another patient in desperate need of treatment. The purple thing lumbered toward the chem-baron, wagging his bonesaw in anticipation. The baron drew his chem-tech pistol and fired. The shot tore through the looming mass in front of him, staggering the monster...
But only for a brief moment.
The hole in the creature's flesh quickly closed as new slabs of muscle rapidly regrew over the wound. The monster paused, eyed the baron quizzically, and uttered, “You sick. Need help!”
Mimicking what he had seen performed countless times by the asylum's former practitioners, the enforcer threw the man on a nearby gurney, strapped his arms into the restraints, and prepared his instruments for surgery. The chem-baron turned pale as he realized the grim fate that awaited him.
The ensuing surgery—like so many before and after it—was not successful. The burgeoning doctor added the remains of his latest patient to the pile on the floor. Though he was saddened he could not save them, he knew he had done all he could. Besides, he would have other chances. Zaun was full of sick people just waiting to be cured. With a smile returning to his face, he left the hospital and set out into the streets to find more patients.
|“Me must be good doctor. Patients never come back.”|
|DO NO HARM
It has been while, Mundo thought, stroking the massive purple tongue that hung from his mouth like an executed criminal swinging from gallows, since Mundo made a housecall.
He rolled out of his bed (a large wooden box filled with sharpened knives and rusty nails), brushed his teeth (with a nail file), and ate breakfast (a cat). Mundo felt exuberant. He felt alive.
Today was a fine day for practicing medicine.
He spotted his first patient hawking shimmerdrops just outside Ranker’s Limb Maintenance. The man limped around in a circle, shouting at everyone within arm’s length about how shimmerdrops would make their eyes roll into the backs of their heads and how if they didn’t buy some right now, right this second, then they were damn idiots and did you just give him a condescending look? Because he’ll kill you and your family and your family’s family.
Mundo took out his notepad, a tool he often used to mark down observations about his patients, both past and present. The notepad was large, yellow, and imaginary.
Patient exhibits signs of mania, Mundo would have written if he hadn’t been tracing random squiggles in the air with a meaty finger. Possible infection of nervous system via cranial virus, he might have inscribed if he were capable of such multisyllabic thought.
“MUNDO CURE HEAD AND FACE AREA GOOD,” he said to himself.
Rank was just about to pack up his shimmerdrops and head home for the night. He needed to get new shoes. These ones rubbed his feet raw when he walked, and at the end of a long day’s work, hadn’t he earned the soft leather of grayeels?
As Rank was thinking this, a huge purple monster jumped out of the shadows and yelled, “MUNDO HAS RESULTS OF YOUR BLOOD WORK.”
Mundo left his first patient more or less as he found him (save for a few limbs) and took to the Commercia Fantastica, a market specializing primarily in gearwork toys. Though most of the shops were closed, Mundo spied a lone Zaunite teetering to and fro as he stumbled down the path. The Zaunite sang a song of a Piltovan beauty and the shy boy from the undercity who loved her, except he seemed to have forgotten most of the words apart from “big ol’ eyes” and “gave it to her.” An empty bottle dangled from his hand, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a bath in months.
Was this man afflicted by the same disease that had ravaged the shimmerdrop dealer? Was this a virus? An epidemic in the making? Mundo had to act fast.
This was clearly a man in need of medical attention.
“TAKE TWO OF THESE AND TALK TO MUNDO IN MORNING,” the purple monstrosity said as he tossed a meat cleaver into the drunk’s back.
Mundo descended into Zaun’s Sump level. If there was a virus going around, chances were it originated here. There must be a patient zero somewhere. If he could just cure the first sufferer of this mystery disease, Mundo knew he could cure the rest of Zaun.
But how was Mundo to find one specific patient in the sprawl of the Sump level? What steps would he take to isolate, quarantine, and fix this most suffering of Zaunites? How would he–
Mundo heard something. Footsteps, and a rhythmic clang of metal against metal.
He followed the noise as carefully and quietly as he could – wouldn’t want to spook the patient into running away and infecting even more people – and found exactly what he was looking for.
A young boy. No older than fifteen, probably, with a shock of white hair and a large metal sword-looking-thing in his hand. He had some sort of hourglass tattooed onto his face. Maybe a warning? A symbol that he was not to be approached under any circumstances?
Mundo knew he’d found him. Patient zero.
It would be a complex operation, requiring skill, planning, a careful eye and–
“YOU MIGHT FEEL A LITTLE STING,” the creature said, leaping out. His enormous purple form hurtling through the air, massive cleaver in hand, tongue flapping in the wind.
The boy was surprised, but not unprepared. Anybody hanging out in the Sump knew to be ready for trouble at a moment’s notice, and the kid had plenty of time to prepare.
Nothing but time, in fact.
No two ways about it: this was a troublesome patient.
He refused to answer Mundo’s questions about his medical history, and repeatedly evaded Mundo’s attempts to make him take his medicine. He repeated himself over and over again (perhaps suffering from a case of physical amnesia?) and had no respect for Dr. Mundo’s authority.
The two scuffled over the child’s sickness for what felt like hours. Mundo made what he thought were very salient points about the merits of treatment, but the child constantly evaded Mundo’s attempts to help him.
Mundo grew tired of arguing with the boy. He mustered up one final attempt at treatment, wielding his precision scalpel with the artistry of a Demacian duelist. The words of his medical vows – “MUNDO FIX ALL THINGS, MUNDO DO MEDICINE VERY HARD” – ran through his head again and again. His desire to cure this child filled him with purpose and determination.
He swung with all his might.
The treatment was a success.
But then – somehow – the treatment reversed itself. Whatever good Mundo had accomplished in his last attempt at a cure was suddenly undone. To Mundo’s utter confusion, the child scurried away, utterly uncured.
Mundo screamed in irritation.
“WHY CAN’T MUNDO SAVE THEM ALL?” he screamed to the sky.
Not every operation was a success. Mundo would be the first to admit that. Still, Mundo tried to focus on the positive. Apart from this most recent patient, Mundo had helped an awful lot of people. He’d done a full day’s work, and now it was time to rest.
As the sun came up, Mundo retired home and tucked himself into bed. Who knew what tomorrow might bring? Another patient to help. Another epidemic to stop.
A doctor’s work was never done.
|MUNDOS MEDIKUL JERNEL
Portions of this text have been transcribed for legibility and edited for grammar by John O'Bryan.
Deer Dieree: No pashents today. But that’s OKay. Evry bizness has downs. I am fine withh it. In fact it is good becuz it means pepul in Zaun are healfy! No patients is good noos for the peeple, I always say.
Still no pashunts. But tooday I wint outsid and yelld at ppl HOO NEED A DOCOTOR? They runned away. They runned fast, so they must not b sick. It is fine. In fact it is good! I will wayt more. Wait untel they r sik. Ooh, ther wuz a gud thing that happen—me found nurs to hire! Her liv in alley behind da hospittl. Mundo xcited to hav help!!
Aggh! Stil No Pashunts! Wear r they all? It not possibul they all healfy. Mundo think they avoid goin to doktur! Mabbe me go find them? Mundo to da reskue!
I hav a pahent! The firstest in a long time. He is fancee! Waring a suut an glassissss. Came in to say him wants to turn this hospital inntu a kem-fak-tow-ree. I tol him he sound krayzee. Putt him in Mundos old room. Da one wif da pads. Gud place for screemin. He be happee in ther for now.
Bad noos. My payshint is detererorayding. Him thinks he wurks fur da chem bearen. Wont eat and wont stop skreemin. Him keep yellin “Yooll be sorry Doktur Mundo!” Mundo tol him me AM sorry becuz he krayze but Mundo will git him bettr. Dis mite take a wile.
Tooday i use a wunderfuhl treetmint on da pashent. No wut it is? Elektristee! I putted it in his brane wif wires. He skreemd becuz that is da sownd peepul make when yuu cure them. Gettin bettr sumtimes hurt. Mundo happee to see progresses!
wow da pashint is lowd! Evreeday he skreem LEMEE OWT LEMEE OWT but wut can I do? Put him owt on da street? He Krazee and danjerous! Moar lekristee and mabee surguree? I dunnno. Wish me luk dieree!!
Mundo am runnnn out uf opshuns. Da lektristee dont werk no moar. Payshent still krazee as a chem-bat. Me wint for a walk owtside to kleer me head tooday. Mundo found nurs an askd her opinyun. Me tol her da lectristee dont werk on da pashent anymor. She sed me need too operat. Then her hissd an ran up a fense. Dat is medikul kunsensis then. Tomorrrro i operat! It gunna go good!
I think da payshint is bettur! I purformd what wee dokturs call a brane labotmee. (Das whare yuu chop up da brane) Payshent is no longr skreemn! Hurray fur sciens! Now kums his recuvry. It will be long an ardyoouss. But he shud pul throo!
Payshint did not pul throo. at leest i don fink so. he haz bin vary still fur a week now. If he dont muuve todaae me hav to put him in garbij. Dis onlee part of job Mundo hate!! Why kant we sayv them all? Sciens still hav so far to go! At leest pashent not suffr no moar.
Me saw nurs agin tooday. Her was eeting out of trash can. Her eet old pashints hand! Mundo tol her dis unprofeshinul! Me say sorry dis not workng out but me rite her good recomindashun lettur. Her hissd and ran up fense agin! Why so hard to find gud help? Me run respektabul practis. Me kare abowt pashints. Is it unreesunabl to xpeckt same frum implowees? Mundo not tink so. Sum day me find nurs hoo kares as much as Mundo. Sum day.
- November 10th, The Making of the Madman from leagueoflegends.com
Journal of Justice