The Rising Sun, the tavern in northwest Falador, is a paradox wrapped in an enigma.

It is a place of life, a place of love, and a place of death - but mostly, it is a place of death.

Well fuck

Tuesday at the Rising Sun.

A place of grisly, brutal, repetitive death.

People don sets of armor and backflip over tables, people fire bolts of lightning-ice-fire from their eyes, and the laws of physics and lore are completely ignored.


An average patron of the Rising Sun.

The Rising Sun is where characters go to get stabbed to death.

There is no law, and no order. As you enter, a man with a mug of ale, dressed in a black cloak, stands in the corner, shouting "Hail Zaros the Empty Lord!"

When you ask him how he knows about Zaros, he says "Becuz im a Sturn judge".

Dwarf Barbarian

This man questioned the necessity of a murder in the Rising Sun.

Following this, a Werewolf, a Vampyre, and ANOTHER GODDAMN MAHJARRAT both stand from the bar, fully in their monstrous forms, and begin to bicker like children about which of the three races is the most powerful as a white knight feebly cries "Sirs... please! Sirs, this is a family establishment..." in the background whilst a crowd of dark hooded strangers stand idly sipping ale, before stabbing the white knight to death and cannibalising his remains.


A common sight in the Rising Sun

Behind the bar, a brave woman stands; one who is immortal, the physical manifestation of Jas; serving the ales, cleaning the bar, and, despite the constant chaos, remains. This being's name is Emily; and she will never die, nor will her bar.

The Rising Sun is not a place in Gielinor. It is its own separate world. It is the cause, and the result, of dividing by zero. A world where lore doesn't matter.

The Rising Sun is the land of kings.

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