Dear Denizens of the Basin,

I'm a very busy bun, but I know everyone loves political intrigue. So,
in the interest of being informative while maintaining the same
substance, my scribe will fill in the dramatic details later when I'm
not paws-deep in other issues.

(Dearest scribe, please insert some over-the-top propaganda about how
Gaudiguch is the true cultural heartbeat of the Basin. Be sure to
include something about our nightlife, perhaps we can get some business
for our Palace of Pleasure. Also mention Freedom a lot, because we are
all about that.)
(Scribe's note: Okay so, Gaudiguch, clearly the Basin's glittering jewel
and the beating, pyrotechnic heart of all culture. We've got more art
than Hallifax could mathematically quantify, more music than Serenwilde
can warble at the moon, we can drink, dance, and wear what we want
without someone from New Celest trying to exorcise us mid-conga line,
and our nightlife is so good that even the sun stays up late to join in.
The Palace of Pleasure alone is basically a cultural landmark that
probably deserves its own postal code. And yes, Freedom. Freedom to
dance, to speak, to wear no pants, to live gloriously and explosively.
Freedom, Freedom, FREEDOM.)

(In this next paragraph, please sprinkle in a dash of irrelevant
self-aggrandizing prose here, something about my unmatched wisdom in
both governance and perhaps a reminder that my ears are very long and I
am very fluffy, proving I am clearly destined for greatness, but try to
come off a little more humble in the last sentence.)
(Scribe's note: My wisdom is unmatched, nay, Transcendent! My governance
is like the perfect cocktail, no no, bunnytail! Balanced, intoxicating,
and occasionally garnished with fire. My ears are not only long and
luxuriously fluffy, but they also serve as exquisite symbols of my
destiny for greatness, able to catch the whispers of diplomacy before
they even leave someone's lips. My fluff is so legendary that nations
could rally behind it. That said, I am, of course, far too humble to
call myself the greatest leader alive, though, between us, the
competition is scarce.)

(Please slip in a vague insult here, ideally the sort that makes
everyone wonder if it's about them, but still polite enough that I can
later claim it was "just a general observation about politics")
(Scribe's note: It is simply a fact that in politics, some mistake noise
for action, and volume for vision. Whether that applies to you, them, or
that person you met at the bar last night with the monocle, well, that's
for you to decide.)

(Scribe, this part is the perfect place for an apology that is not
really an apology.)
(Scribe's note: I am sorry you took offense, but I am also deeply
curious about how you managed to find it in the first place. Was there a
treasure map involved?)

I agree with most of what my father said and the main bit of what Chair
Tikki said as well.

(Scribe, this is the part where we begin wrapping up. Try to think of a
rhetorical question that is supposed to come off as thought-provoking
but also make it passive-aggressive, so I can say later that I was
asking questions and it was not meant to offend.)
(Scribe's note: If we are all so committed to the Basin's unity, then
why is it that every time someone proposes actual unity, the room
suddenly catches fire...?)

(Scribe, this is the last bit. Obviously, I need an obligatory sign-off
painting me in an adorable light, but not too adorable. Make vague
references about burning something. Also mention something about Freedom
again. Freedom, Freedom, Freedom. Really lean into it.)
(Scribe's note: May the fiery blaze of my eternal affection vaporize
your troubles on contact, leaving only the faint scent of toasted
cinnamon in the air. I am, as ever, your vigilant and heroically fluffy
Cinabun, single-pawedly safeguarding our sacred FREEDOM, Freedom to
thrive like sunflowers in sequined sunglasses, Freedom to burn bright
enough to make the actual sun feel insecure, Freedom to live gloriously
unshackled, and yes, Freedom to roast artisanal, ethically-sourced
marshmallows over our majestic volcano while reciting poetry about
liberty. And of course, the Freedom to shout FREEDOM! FREEDOM! FREEDOM!)

Sweet Sultana, Eiselle Mes'ard, Spicy Cinabun

(Note to scribe: Thank you so much for your services. I do feel like I
could have added in more references about the heat, or volcanoes but
keep in mind I want to limit references to drunkenness because this
should have a really serious tone. Please fit in those other references
as you see fit. I may or may not be able to contact you later for
specifics. I trust, however, that you'll represent my words the way I
intended.)
(Scribe's note: Ah yes, the delicate art of serious volcanic politics.
Tricky to balance when the entire city smells like a fiery tavern and
half the council meetings end in impromptu dance-offs. Don't worry, I've
sprinkled just enough heat and molten metaphor to keep things sizzling
without tipping into drunken llama parade territory. If you need more
fiery flair or a subtle hint of tipsiness later, just send a smoke
signal, or, you know, a message. I'm always here, possibly wearing a hat
made of volcanic ash. Your humble, occasionally overheated scribe.)

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Dioni, in the year 715 CE.