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SARCHNER CONSORTIUM OF FOGBOUND KIN
Pacific heaves its argent lungs against break waters and rowhouses perch like weather-scoured lyres, San Francisco. High upon a precipice of conglomerate stone, overlooking both the roaring Gate and the tidal braille written across the bay, stood the Sarchner Spirehold. It did not resemble fort, nor manor, nor observatory, but some hybrid archaic edifice whispered into being by cartographers who loved anomalies.

The Sarchner Line seeks new kin:
★ Mistborne Cadets (born 1999–2010)

San Francisco does not honor half-made confessions, neither does the Sarchner Spirehold

Venerated Sarchner Line! Some strange wind ushered mine eye to your proclamation, and in its wake I felt that old, aching want of belonging. My identifier is @, my visage carried by (muse). Should you deem me fit, allow my footfall within your manifold halls, that I may braid my days with yours.

Entreaty to be delivered to @Sarchnerbot
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Be apprised! Your introduction is the
inaugural metric of your standing in
our tiered bastion. Only through a full
and corporeal avouchment of the self
may we discern whether you are fitted
for the rooftop sentinels, the hearthward
custodians, nor the umbrous corridor
wayfarers who converse with the fog’s
mutable throat.
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Slmt mlm, km lg apa