|Overview||Gallery||Statistics||Match History||Ban History|
|The Monkey King|
|Release Date:||July 26th, 2011|
|Health:||577.8 (+ 85)|
|Health Regen:||6.19 (+ 0.65)|
|Mana:||265.84 (+ 38)|
|Mana Regen:||8.04 (+ 0.65)|
|Attack Damage:||59.876 (+ 3.2)|
|Attack Speed:||0.658 (+ 3%)|
|Armor:||24.88 (+ 3.5)|
|Magic Resist:||32.1 (+ 1.25)|
- Previous Bio
- League Judgement
|Wukong is a vastayan trickster who uses his strength, agility and intelligence to confuse his opponents and gain the upper hand. After finding a lifelong friend in the warrior known as Master Yi, Wukong became the last student of the ancient martial art known as Wuju. Armed with an enchanted staff, Wukong seeks to prevent Ionia from falling to ruin.
Within Ionia’s treetops dwells a vastayan tribe known as the Shimon. These apelike creatures are a wise, cautious people, and as pacifists, chose to build their society away from landwalkers, cultivating their society atop the tallest trees in Ionia. The Shimon see life as an evolutionary climb to wisdom, thus upon death, the Shimon believe they become stones, returning to the soil to begin the climb of life again.
Even from an early age, Kong had very little in common with his fellow Shimon. Impulsive, clever, and fun-loving, Kong was a constant thorn in his village’s side. When war came to Ionia, Kong was engrossed by the sounds and colors of the battles below – they awoke something true and undeniable in him, a calling. Kong left his tribe to prepare for what he knew to be his destiny.
Armed only with instinct and with no training under his belt, Kong wandered Ionia, in search of challengers to learn the art of combat. Though Kong often earned bruises and broken teeth for his trouble, with each fight, he was carving himself into the warrior he felt called to become.
In his travels, Kong ran across a goggle-wearing man meditating in a glade. Kong challenged him to a fight. The man stood up and knocked Kong to the ground in a single motion before returning to his meditations. Kong had challenged many opponents, but he’d never experienced anything like this.
For weeks, Kong came back to the glade every day and attempted to defeat the warrior. Though stronger and faster than the begoggled man, Kong was outmaneuvered at every turn.
Eventually, Kong decided to try something he’d never attempted in his many years of life: humility. He kneeled before the man and humbly asked for training. Without missing a beat, the swordsman asked a question of Kong: why do you fight?
Kong realized he’d never thought about that before. He could have stayed in his peaceful society, but something inside him had demanded otherwise. Kong asked the same question of the man, who only replied that he did not fight anymore. Kong spent the next several days sitting in the glade with the warrior, pondering the question.
The man saw Kong’s change of heart and quiet determination. He introduced himself as Master Yi, and agreed to train Kong in the virtues of discipline, patience and combat, which Yi called Wuju. Kong’s technique and precision improved with each lesson as Yi channeled Kong’s propensity for recklessness and impulsiveness into a lethally swift and surprising fighting style.
The two grew to respect each other over the course of this training, yet Kong sensed a deep sadness in Yi that even Kong’s most hilarious pranks couldn’t lighten.
More than that, he still hadn’t found an answer to Yi’s question. Maybe if he’d known what Yi had once fought for, he could answer the question for himself. Kong made Yi a proposition. The two would engage in a friendly spar. If Kong won, Yi would have to tell him what he’d fought for. If Yi won, Kong wouldn’t speak for an entire year.
Yi eagerly accepted.
Kong lured Yi from the glade into a field of smokepoppies, and each time Yi attempted one of his swift attacks, Kong would disappear into the haze the poppies burst with when agitated. In the confusion, Yi struck out at what he believed to be Kong, but instead was a straw doll Kong had woven in his own image and planted in the field as a decoy. Kong seized his opportunity and felled Yi with a blow to the temple.
Yi smiled at Kong’s cleverness. The smile disappeared, however, as he explained why he had given up the sword. Yi was once an integral part of Ionia’s defense against Noxus during the invasion. Yi and his disciples had been so effective at meeting the Noxians in combat that the invaders had eventually turned to chemical warfare. Yi blamed himself for the hundreds of lives lost to their Zaunite scientist’s chem-bombs. No longer able to answer why he fought, he banished himself to the glade to meditate upon the question.
Kong had come from a people who chose to stay out of the world’s fights, but all that did was leave those who might be less equipped to face those threats alone. Kong admired that, whatever the outcome, Yi had fought to protect others. Kong realized he wished to do the same.
Through Kong’s eyes, Yi saw that he had been running from the truth: that, as much as he may try to deny it, he was a warrior and his people needed his help. A thankful Yi granted Kong an enchanted staff, crafted by the legendary blacksmith Doran, and a new honorific, reserved only for the brightest students of Wuju. From that day forward, Kong was known as Wukong.
Yi and Wukong walked out of the Ionian wilderness, intent on finding a new cause to fight for. Together.
| "Just try to stop me!"
|FAST AND DUMB
Fast and dumb, or slow and smart?
That’s what Yi always asks me. Well, I say “asks,” but it’s not really a question. Not up for discussion. Not really. You can be impulsive and quick and improvisational and have fun... or you can do things Yi’s way. The right way. Slow. Patient. Strategic. With a gruff, determined expression on his face, like he stepped in crap. Because he did. Because I shoved some inside his boot, thinking he’d find it funny.
(I did, though, so it all kinda worked out in the end.)
The really irritating thing, though: he’s usually right. Through the years we’ve trained together, I’ve beaten him in combat something like...twelve times? Versus the hundreds of times he’s walloped me. And every time – every single time I ate a mouthful of dirt – I knew it was because I’d gotten impatient. Took a swing I wasn’t sure would land. Lunged for an opening that ended up being a trap.
And I’m not being humble. I’m good. Really good. Yi, humorless as he is, just happens to be one of the best warriors I’ve ever met. It’s not like the guy is slow, either: he’s fast. Faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. As in: he unsheathes his blade, then there’s a blur, then three guys are bleeding on the ground. That fast.
So when he tells me to choose slow and smart over fast and dumb, I try to listen most of the time.
Keyword being “try.”
And “most of the time.”
We were wandering through a forest of man-high mushrooms when we heard the shouting.
In addition to cutting off the punchline of an incredible joke I’d been telling, Yi made me dive into the thick of a thistleshrub to avoid detection.
There were six of them. Five bandits and their rope-bound captive, an elderly farmer with anxious eyes.
I felt this situation called for a liberal application of hitting people in the head with my staff, but Yi held me back. He put a finger to his lips, then pointed at his eyes. Observe. Strategize. Fast and dumb, or slow and smart?
I sighed and looked over the group with a discerning eye.
Raggedy clothes hung off their hunched backs, taut with stress. They seemed to take far better care of their blades than themselves. Their eyes scanned their surroundings as they marched, on the lookout for any potential ambush. One shoved a gag into the old farmer’s mouth, presumably to stop the shouting we’d just heard.
The old farmer collapsed to the ground. The tumble was intentional; anyone could tell that. His captors certainly did.
The leader stopped and faced the old man. “Well, that tears it,” he said. “You’re old, my friend, but you’re not that old. Falling over every few hundred steps to stall for time? Give yourself a second to think about how you’re gonna get out of this? That’s an old trick. Older than you.”
He squatted to the farmer’s level.
“You don’t really have a chestful of precious stones at home, do you?”
The old man stared at the bandit, terror slowly replacing itself with resignation.
He shook his head.
“That’s a shame,” the bandit said, a genial smile on his face. The kind of smile that usually leads to somebody pulling out a dagger.
“I’m gonna go save him now,” I whispered to Yi.
Yi shook his head as hard as he could without rattling his goggles. I didn’t have to ask why. He likely wanted one of us to sneak around them and attack from the other side of the pass, trapping them in a pincer. Or something equally cunning and time-consuming. Slow and smart.
Yi’s big problem – apart from not finding me funny, and the fact that his goggles make him look like a man-sized bug – is that he spent the last handful of years sitting alone in a field of flowers. His patience is infinite. He thinks everything can be thought through. Planned for.
Still, Yi had said to go slow. We’d try it his way. I nodded at him, then at the path behind the thugs. You get behind them. I’ll attack on your signal.
Yi circled back through the brush. He darted to the other side of the trail, too quick to notice, even if they had been looking in his direction. Classic ambush setup: he’d get their attention, and while their backs were turned, I’d hit them from my side of the path.
That’s when the lead bandit pulled a blade out of his right pocket. A small little thing, not good for much more than peeling fruit. Or slicing the throat of a tired old farmer.
I couldn’t see Yi in the brush on the other side of the road, but I knew he couldn’t see the blade. He didn’t know what was about to happen.
They were about to kill the old man, no matter how safe Yi wanted to play it. We had no time to go slow.
Thankfully, I had a secret weapon up my sleeve: I’m really, really, really good at fighting.
The leader grabbed the old man’s scalp and put a knife to his throat. I leapt out of the brush, staff held high, and smacked the blade out of his hand. Then we got to my favorite part.
Whenever I get the drop on somebody, I usually get about a two to three second window as they try to make sense of me. Most people have never seen a vastaya, much less a Shimon. They stand there slack-jawed, which typically gives me a chance to hit ‘em before they realize what’s going on.
I drove my knee into the lead bandit's chin, and his teeth clacked together so hard, even I winced at the sound.
“Stay where you are, Yi!” I shouted into the bush where he waited, unseen. “I got this.”
That’s when a knife hit me in the shoulder.
Apparently, one of those jerks had been wearing a bandolier of throwing daggers across his chest, and I hadn’t noticed. I tried not to imagine Yi smirking to himself.
“Still ‘got this,’ do you?,” he yelled from the brush. Likely staying out of the fight just long enough for me to get my teeth kicked in, so he could leap in, save me, and shout that he told me to slow down.
“Completely!” I shouted as I tossed a handful of smokepoppies to the ground. (I always keep a few on me. They’re useful in combat, and even more useful for irritating Yi when I’m bored.)
Then I beat the hell outta the rest of them. I won’t trouble you with the details–
–Wait, yes I will, because they’re great.
I held my staff out and twirled around, aiming high so as to avoid the prone old man. My arms shuddered with every impact of wood against skull. I dodged blows, parried strikes, and only got punched in the face, like, twice.
By the time the smoke cleared, I was the only one still standing. Well, me and the old man, once I got him to his feet.
Yi stepped out of the brush, sighing.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “What are you sighing for? I saved the grungy old man–”
“–Hey!” the old man said.
“And my shoulder will probably heal in a couple of days. Ow,” I said, touching the wound. “What’s disappointed you this time?”
Yi cut the man’s bindings. “I’m not disappointed,” Yi said. “I’m irritated.”
“I don’t like admitting I’m wrong. You were impatient, reckless, and you absolutely made the right call.”
“Fast and dumb.”
He patted me on my non-bleeding shoulder.
“Fast and dumb,” he said.
|During the chaos of the Rune Wars, an enormous runestone was lost deep within the Plague Jungles. It remained there, untouched for centuries, emanating a potent magic which infused nearby wildlife with sentience and vitality. A group of monkeys who were particularly empowered by it came to worship the stone, and their leader - a wise sage - became convinced that he could harness its power to make the monkeys immortal. He performed an elaborate ritual, but things didn't go as he expected. The runestone was destroyed, and instead of granting immortality, it produced Kong, a monkey who carried in his heart the strength and power it had contained. Kong was driven by an unquenchable desire for greatness. He sought out every beast and monster the Plague Jungles could offer, eager to find a worthy opponent, but none offered the challenge he craved. He asked the sage for advice, and learned about a legend of hairless monkeys to the north who, with wits and might, had bent the world to their will.
Kong left, journeying north, determined to discover if the legend was true. He crossed the Southern Wastes and then the Great Barrier. On his way, he happened upon Master Yi, who was deep in meditation. Kong asked him of the strongest warriors in the north, and Yi told him. The tales intoxicated Kong. Kong asked Yi to teach him the ways of humans, so that he might rival these famed warriors one day. In return, he would honor Yi by using Yi's Wuju style to become the greatest warrior Runeterra had ever seen. Admiring his passion, Yi agreed, but under the condition that Kong would one day teach the lessons of Wuju to a pupil of his own. In the spirit of this agreement, he renamed Kong "Wukong" and gave him a weapon suited to his unusual nature - an enchanted staff that the young Doran had crafted. The weapon was an unrivalled masterpiece. Guided by Yi, Wukong would show the world the true power of Wuju.
| "Only in combat do you learn who you truly are."
Date: 22 July, 21 CLE
Wukong charges into the Great Hall, bursting with anticipation. The promise of a challenge excites him. His movements seem frenzied and wild, but for all their apparent disorganization, he never seems to be off-balance. His head darts from side to side. It's unclear whether he is watching for threats or trying to take everything in at once – probably both.
When he is satisfied that has seen or poked everything in the area, he proceeds to the doors. This moment has been too long in the waiting.
Wukong was still unaccustomed to the confining structures that humans liked to build around themselves. He could understand the need for shelter, but in a place where man's society dominated the landscape, there weren't many dangers left. Master Yi had explained the concept of "privacy" to him at length (mainly because Wukong's prying curiosity apparently often violated it), but he still didn't quite understand why people would willingly spend so much time cut off from the world around them. Did they not enjoy the sun on their skin? Or the scents carried on the wind? Maybe it's just a fur thing, he mused.
In the Plague Jungles, Wukong would spend nights on the highest bough of the tallest tree, drifting asleep to the melody of thousands of creatures serenading the starlight. Despite all the wonders man had achieved, nothing had quite the same simple elegance. It seemed the nature of people was to seek out and foster complications in their lives until even the most fundamental behaviors came with guidelines and instructions: table manners, bathroom etiquette, courting rituals, rules of engagement. To breach any rule was to invite further complications. It was exhausting and often pointless.
However, for all the quirks that humans had, they were truly remarkable, and their warriors presented Wukong with challenges he couldn't find in the Plague Jungles – challenges he once worried might not exist. He recalled the feeling of desperation that day, right after his bout with the sea dragon, when his every goal had been realized, every opponent defeated. His frantic ambition gave him drive and purpose, but consumed him when deprived an outlet. Like him, it was a product of the Plague Jungles, where uneven concentrations of magic and life would well up until they burst – evolution in overdrive.
The nearby crunch of a crushed leaf jarred him from his thoughts.
Instinctively, Wukong bent backward, just in time to avoid the sweep of a familiar weapon. As it passed over him, he could make out Doran's distinctive craftsmanship – it was his own staff. Had someone stolen it? His focus fell to his fingers and he was relieved to find it still clutched within them.
Wukong allowed his momentum to carry him into a backflip, and he brought the weapon up defensively the second his feet touched the soil. Soil...where am I? He glanced at his surroundings and recognized the vibrant ferns, towering kopak trees, and sprawling vines in an instant.
How had he returned to the Plague Jungles? More importantly, who had just attacked him?
He scanned the immediate area but could find no sign of the aggressor. There was no way anyone could have gotten away so fast. He peered through the lush vegetation, looking for signs of someone's passing. He had the space of a gasp to notice a curious shadow before he was struck squarely in the chest by a jab from the imposter weapon. It came from nearly twenty feet away, stretching several times its normal length to reach him. Knockoff or not, it apparently shared the unique qualities of the original.
The blow knocked the wind out of him, and sent him sliding along the jungle's mossy floor. He stayed on his feet, but struggled to maintain his composure as he coaxed air back into his lungs. A blur in the corner of his vision announced the next assault, and Wukong was able to identify his assailant's glinting gold armor before he was beset by a flurry of attacks. The form was unmistakable.
On his heels, Wukong could barely keep upright as he parried the furious onslaught. The rogue clone was faster than he was, and its strikes were well-chosen and well-placed. Wukong tried to control the clone as he would one of his own illusions, although he was unsurprised when that failed. This clone wasn't one of his tricks, it was something different entirely. Had the jungle produced another, possibly better monkey king? He was horrified by the thought.
Wukong saw an opening in the clone's barrage, and he unleashed a powerful blow. He timed it perfectly – the clone had no time to react before Wukong's staff collided with its jaw.
When he made contact, the clone vanished in a puff of smoke.
Uh oh. Wukong knew this tactic all too well. He tried to block the attack he knew would come from behind but he wasn't fast enough. Bright pain filled his vision and he collapsed face-first into mud and ferns. As he tried to blink the world back into his eyes, the clone circled him slowly, savoring its advantage.
"Why do you want to join the League, Wukong?" The question, delivered in his own voice, rattled him.
"To be the best," he rasped, spitting dirt.
"You have a long way to go."
"That's the fun part." Wukong got to one knee. "When you're at the top, there's nowhere left to go." He eyed the clone curiously, perhaps things weren't as they seemed. "But I'm not as far away as you think."
He grinned mischievously, and the clone lashed out with its staff, sensing danger. All it hit was a cloud of smoke. Wukong hurtled through the air behind it, one hand latched onto a vine, the other holding the staff out like a lance. The clone whirled around faster than the eye could see, its staff cutting a vicious arc for Wukong. It hit its mark perfectly, and just in time, but Wukong just burst into another cloud.
The trees were coming alive now. Another Wukong swung down from a vine, then another, and another. The clone moved like a machine, barely intercepting every attack but slowly becoming obscured in fog as they all dispersed harmlessly in front of it. It tried to move, to find some better ground, but Wukongs poured from the trees, surrounding and suppressing it with unrelenting strikes. One Wukong stood outside the cloud, arms folded, watching as the clone struggled to resist being overwhelmed.
"You know, human, things are different in the Plague Jungles. We aren't provided for, we aren't protected. Most creatures don't fight for fun here – most fight to survive." He ducked as the clone's staff, shooting out from the cloud, sought to land a lucky strike. "But I fight to be the best. That's what makes me special. That's why I left to find your League. That's why I will be the greatest."
The clone was visibly losing steam. Wukong plucked a peach from a nearby tree and took a bite. It tasted divine.
"As a people, you have the world at your fingertips, but alone, most of you crumble in the face of true adversity," he slurped through a mouthful of peach.
Suddenly, before his eyes, the jungle dissolved. He dropped the peach, but it was gone before it reached the ground. Only the clone remained against a backdrop of darkness. Its eyes burned brightly, but its expression was pleased.
"How does it feel, exposing your mind?"
Wukong tapped the clone on the shoulder from behind, the Wukong it was facing vanished, leaving the same poof of smoke.
"I told you I wasn’t as far as you thought," he said with a smile.
Scowling, the clone disappeared and then Wukong was back in the Institute. He chuckled. Humans and their rituals. Nonetheless, another trial passed, another obstacle overcome. Now it was time to put this League to the test.
- Wukong's Champion Page
- Universe of League of Legends Page
- Champion Sneak Peek - Wukong, the Monkey King
- A First Look at the Monkey King!
Journal of Justice