Madam Firilanya

Madam Firilanya is an Altmer tailor. She may become the personal outfitter hireling for the Vestige, should they choose to allocate points into the Outfitter Hireling skill for Clothing, once they reach the appropriate level. She will send a letter with select materials to the Vestige on a daily basis, although the items she sends may be improved with additional points into the Outfitter Hireling skill. She is also the author of A Trader's Eye for Fashion.
==Hireling letters==
Madam Firilanya may send the Vestige multiple letters to their inbox, detailing her adventures as she gathers resources for the Vestige. The following are a collection of the letters that she will send:
#Madam Firilanya, at your service. A true pleasure to become your exclusive outfitter. Your sartorial expertise is known even in the Summerset Isles. With my extensive mercantile connections, I shall source materials so you may create the finest-fitting—and looking!—armors. I've enclosed proof of my diligence. Expect regular deliveries!
#Once again, a timely delivery. I do hope you are pleased with the contents. The seasonal rains nearly washed them from the docks, but a good Altmer securing chain is worth its weight in gold. Unless you're imprisoned, of course.
#I don't know why High Elven names confuse many throughout Tamriel, but to help bridge cultural differences I answer to "Miss Firi" or "Madam Lanya," as well as my given name. A competitor of mine once called me "Fishwife Firi," so I undercut her prices until she left town. I had to draw the line somewhere.
#I never understand complaints made about nautical travel. You begin and end each journey in port. There you can find excellent deals for materials, such as what I have enclosed. The sea salt should wash right off.
#The prices on untreated boar hides are outrageous. It's as though they've been hunted to extinction, at least in Valenwood. All that Green Pact business must be the culprit. I wager they ate right through them!
#I heard a rumor of plague in the Colovian highlands. You have to take care when these things present themselves. If true there is great opportunity for profit, but if false you've wasted a trip. Until I know more I think I'll stick to the southern coasts. Wonderful prices down here, as I'm sure my latest delivery reveals.
#I hope the first week in your employ has found you pleased with my services. If ever I am delayed due to the vagaries of travel, I have instructed my assistant to handle deliveries. This way you shall never want for a steady supply of materials.
#This talk of war certainly makes things difficult for a roving outfitter such as myself, but no more so than anyone else. Some of the deals are phenomenal. But what use are cheaply purchased goods if they're raided or commandeered by roving armies?
#An interesting lead! Rumors tell of a haberdasher in Black Marsh whose treated wamasu scales are crafted into the most eye-catching hats. In theory the same treated scales could be applied to pauldrons or hauberks. Perhaps they'll be flashier than the materials I've provided today!
#My journey to Black Marsh begins in earnest, in search of treated wamasu scales. If I can convince the haberdasher to reveal his treatment process, I shall stockpile wamasu scales and corner the market.
#Fleshflies. I've had enough of the filthy creatures! Not for my own flesh, but that of the leatherwork I brought for trade. Thankfully they don't have a taste for the contents of my latest delivery.
#Did you know there is no word in Jel for haberdasher? A friendly local informed me I should travel to the more remote villages and ask for a Kaoc Xuth Waxhuthi, which I'm told means "hat create person."
#The haberdasher of Black Marsh was a rumor. "Wamasu scale treatment" is a Black Marsh jest for an impossible task.  Also, never say Kaoc Xuth Waxhuthi in remote Argonian villages. The reaction is ... unfavorable. (I must have written it down incorrectly.)
#I found the most amazing dish today near the border of Cyrodiil. The innkeeper called it an Eidar cap. You hollow out a bread loaf, melt Eidar cheese in a pot, and pour it inside the bread. You can dip the bread inside and eat it there, or let it cool and take the whole thing with you as you travel. Delicious!
#Cyrodiil is rife with bandits. They slew four caravan guards and made off with half of my baggage. But all is not lost!  I recovered the chain mail from the guards' armor. A quick rinse, some polish, and I traded the lot in Bravil for the material I have enclosed.
#You certainly know of the White-Gold Tower at the heart of the Imperial city. After all the turmoil, once things are stable, do you think they'd let me climb the tower and see the view? I bet you can see Auridon from up there.
#A conjurer lost control of a scamp this morning. The little thing found its way to the market and, I'm not entirely clear how, got its head stuck inside a melon. It teetered about, loosing balls of fire into the air, and eventually stumbled into a pile of manure which it then set alight. I've never seen so many laugh so hard while in such danger.
#I lost a bet with a trader from Elsweyr. For the remainder of the week, whenever I barter for goods, I'm to wear a painted Khajiiti Senche-mask. I thought it would affect my trades, and it has! Last night, after finishing my trading, I overheard some locals mention the Cat Elf with the outstanding prices. I've doubled my volume!
#I once sold a shrine of Zenithar to a Breton noblewoman. Though I didn't own the shrine, I never once lied to her! There's an art to playing upon people's mistaken assumptions, and I simply wished to see how artful I was. Of course, I immediately tithed most of her payment to the nearest temple. It does one no good to mock the Eight Divines.
#I heard a wandering priest of the Eight Divines was hung in the Imperial City. The charge was treason. No details, but the locals are uneasy. Time for me to move along. Uneasy locals means a general distrust of outsiders is just over the horizon.
#There's no plague in the Colovian highlands. But there is good news! A wasting sickness has gripped much of the population. Rest, recuperation, and a strong tonic will cure it, but local custom has the sick wear flax scarves over their mouths and noses. The profits I made in selling the tawdry things went to the enclosed material.
#Accused of spreading the plague with flax scarves. One step ahead of the mob. Forgive my brevity.
#The mob torched the barn where I hid, but a kind sorcerer aided my escape! I am now hiding in the cave he calls his home. Most of my traveling stock was destroyed in the fire, but the sorcerer offered to deliver this letter and what meager material I brought with me. He seems a kindly old sort. You have him to thank for this delivery!
#The sorcerer who aided my escape belongs to the Cult of the Black Worm. He wished access to my "plague scarves" for his own purposes. I spun an elaborate lie of their hiding spot. When he left to retrieve them, I raided a hamper marked "Plague Zombie Ritual Material" and fled. Have no fear—neither the "plague" nor "zombie" portions were present.
#I have completely replenished my stock! Worm Cult sorcerers have so much useful material at hand. The one who aided my escape from the mob wasn't happy to learn I'd had no part in the plague after all. It was a gamble to collapse the deadfall atop him when he returned to his cave, but sorcerers rarely look up. Enclosed are some of the spoils!
#Worked leather is impossible to find in the markets. The stock has dwindled to nothing, almost overnight. This tells me one of two things: either someone with much gold seeks to drive up the price before flooding the markets with leather, or they plan to armor a cohort of ogrim. I should watch for bulk purchases of oversized buckles!
#If you are ever offered something called "pumpkin wine," you should pour the stuff anywhere but into your own mouth. I was not so lucky.
#If the Mages Guild can communicate with every one of their chapters across Tamriel, why can't they alert one another to the spread of disease? You'd think such a service would benefit every Empire, kingdom, or stronghold in the land.
#I'm due for more caravan travel as I seek out lower prices on trading stock. You learn to fight off the weariness in time. On those long roads, after a hard rain, the stench of a damp ox is often foul enough to keep your mind alert.
#I must apologize for my previous shipment. It seems I swapped your intended package with materials owed to another. Here is the intended shipment, but as it was my mistake, you should keep the materials already received. This area is rife with thievery so I removed all labels from my packaging. I shall triple-check next time!
#Finally, I've reached Anvil! With its protected harbor and well-traveled caravan routes, there is nowhere in Tamriel that I cannot send shipments. Except the Reach, of course. And Sunforge. Or Solstheim, come to think of it. But my point stands! Wherever you travel, my shipments shall follow. Even to those wretched places.
#I've rented a small warehouse in Anvil for bulk goods. Now I may purchase directly from laden ships, store at the warehouse, and resell as needed. I'll need a good name for the placard, of course! It took a while to narrow down my options, but I've settled on "The Bolt Hole."
#My new business is no longer "The Bolt Hole." Last night a crowd of drunken sailors arrived. From the name alone, they expected my new establishment to be a house of ill repute! To avoid further confusion, I changed the name to "Bolts in Bulk."
#I erred again with my business name. "Bolts in Bulk" drew a different crowd of drunken sailors. It seems "bolt" is a local euphemism for something you'd associate with a bawdy house. This rules out my alternate names: "The Bolt Store," "The Better Bolt," and "Barrelfuls of Bolts." I've gone with a safe alternative: "No-Bilk Silks."
#Ridiculous! "No-Bilk Silks" is the name of a well-known Argonian night-swain. I learned this from the well-heeled sailors who arrived last night, vastly disappointed he wasn't available for "conversation." I give up! Now I'm calling my business "The Raw Deal." I can only hope everyone thinks it's the least appealing brothel in Tamriel.
#There is a danger in playing tavern games with which you are unfamiliar. This is why I learn every one of them! Seven Mugs, Skink Smash, Knuckle Jugglers, Troll Stutters, Red Staben's Dance, Frogswallow, Bilge Baiting, and even Wattle Swinging, which some Nords will say can be played with a mammoth. Do not believe this. They are testing you.
#Anvil is an odd place. Everyone knows raiding bands keep gold flowing through the port. It's always rougher when their boats return, but the locals are mostly immune. Even the meanest dogs are loathe to foul their own nests. A curious balance, but they seem to keep it.
#What do you suppose the moons are? The Khajiit think them gods, while the Mages Guild says they're islands in the sky. I've heard stranger theories. A sailor once said they were enormous atronachs, wrestling for the amusement of the Daedric Princes. He says it's what causes thunderstorms! Foolish man. Everybody knows they're made by Sheogorath.
#There's been talk of werewolves in the nearby hills, so I've taken precautions with your latest package. You've no doubt noticed the smell on the packaging! It's a local remedy, sworn to keep them away. If you are yourself afflicted, my sincere apologies. Soak your hands with the salts in the enclosed pouch to soothe any irritation.
#Some find it strange that I rarely trade with stronghold Orcs. I have no problem trading with Orcs, of course! But I've learned the Orcs who live in strongholds are like mages you find in caves: powerful, insular, and able to turn you inside out when they're having a bad day.
#I always bribe the lighthouse keepers at a port. They're first to spot the ships, and can send runners with what they know of the shipmasters, their expected hauls, and the like. The best weapon is a keen mind, my mother always said! Also a dueling sword. She was rather particular.
#I heard a version of Over the Seas last night called "Ever the Tease and Over the Mane." Things grew racier from there. You know how it is, lots of nautical phrases like "half-mast" and "anchors aweigh" taking on vastly different meanings. Sailors think they're so clever.
#The dockworkers in Anvil made it abundantly clear I need to hire locals to staff my business. Tomorrow I have two choices: sift through the sotted dregs everybody else refused to hire, or watch the dockworkers throw everything I own into the harbor. I'm still weighing my options. That should tell you the quality I expect to find.
#I interviewed ten candidates for assistants. All of them are terrible, but I must hire one or the dockworkers will acquaint my belongings with the sea. This is not unlike straining sewage with your teeth—no matter how bad it tastes, you must do your utmost to keep the biggest pieces of dung on the outside.
#Wharf Dog Melloy, a Breton with a Khajiit-tail necklace. Low-Neck, an Argonian who says he is best at "stealing things." Cuts First, who beneath her extensive scars is either a spindly Nord or a stocky High Elf. I must hire one of them to appease the Anvil dockworkers. Very well! I'll give each a trial day and see who outworks the rest.
#Cuts First threw a knife at me when I told her to move some barrels. I found Wharf Dog Melloy sleeping off the skooma shakes in my office. Low-Neck is missing, along with my ledger. Thankfully I'd hidden today's delivery, or he'd have made off with your package.
#Low-Neck returned with my ledger this morning and said he was impressed with my volume of business. He promised to skim no more than a small portion of my profits. Better a candid thief than a throatcutter or a skooma fiend! I hired him on the spot. If you receive this package, it means my new assistant can take direction.
#I heard a joke the other day. What do you call someone who rants about Dwarves who sew jewelry into the fringes of their robes? A Dwemer hemmer gem condemner! (I never said it was a good joke.)
#I watched a Wood Elf kill another Wood Elf today. She pulled a dagger, slipped up behind him, and cut his throat. Then she shouted something about "avenging the black sap." Her surprise when most everyone shrugged and went about their business marked her as an outsider. If the locals have no time to bet on a fight, its outcome doesn't matter.
#I find it best to honor all of the Divines. Even Akatosh, who commands us to "serve and obey the Emperor." I tithe to him so he can settle that particular mess. Queen Ayrenn, Jorunn the Skald-King, High King Emeric, or someone else entirely. Perhaps even you! Whoever it is, emperors are good for business.
#A dozen zombies shambled from the sea onto the Anvil docks. The entire crew of the Gizzard Cutter shrieked as one and fled for the hills! I'd heard of Redguard superstitions involving the undead, but never seen it in person. The Khajiiti crew of the Sleek Claws slew the zombies, then raided the Gizzard Cutter's hold. I admit, I'm still chuckling.
#You may wonder why I am so diligent with the frequency and quantity of my deliveries at such an agreeable rate. Though this is certainly a service I provide, word of our association has provided multiple business opportunities for me. In a way, your reputation is funding your shipments!
#Have you heard the phrase "squeeze blood from a stone," or some variation? I met a member of the Mages Guild who assures me this relates to some rather infamous gargoyle experiments. I'm not sure if I should believe him. He insisted Vanus Galerion was born a Snow Elf. I insisted he'd had too much to drink.
#There's very little time to explain, but I must board a ship to Alik'r. Here is your latest package. If I am unable to contact you for the duration, my assistant Low-Neck will handle the next week's deliveries.
#I made landfall in Khefrem. I expected a drier climate, but the western waters are quite refreshing. And now for the good news! I heard a rumor of a mage deep in the Alik'r wastes who trades incredibly exotic materials, but only when both moons are full—two days hence, according to the charts! Tomorrow I leave for his tower.
#I knew the scorpions were large, but I didn't expect them to outsize the horses! Thankfully they turn with the grace of rowboats and lunge like drunken sailors, something I've long since grown accustomed to avoiding. The horse I rented knew more than enough to give the creatures a wide berth. I continue to the mage's tower!
#Bad news. The tower was entirely empty, but for a single table. Upon it was paper, pen, and inkwell. The paper said "Petitioner's Trade" at the top. Out of spite, I wrote "the sleep you stole from me" before bedding down in the tower. In the morning I sought the page as a souvenir, but it must have fluttered away in the night. So I took the pen!
#We return to Anvil with nearly empty hands. It was too good to be true, despite the assurances from sources I normally trust. At least I was able to turn a profit on barrels of dried fish. The spices alone will fund a backlog of shipments—such as this one.
#Always pay your dues to the Thieves Guild! If you're protected, they're better than any city guard at finding who slipped a bolt of fine silk out of your warehouse. The last thing they want is independent competition.
#A traveling merchant tried to sell some relics he claimed were taken from a Dark Anchor. He'd clearly never been to Anvil before he came, because the sailors here are quite superstitious. When they finished with him, he left town as a "pitch goose." This is why I always learn about my markets!
#The storms here are terrible! I'm not certain this package will reach you. If not, I shall double the volume of my next shipment. And if so, I hope you will forgive any unexpected sponginess.
#A smith's apprentice tried to woo me the other day. I tried to let her down with grace. The extensive travel and associated dangers are poison to relationships. For now, my only love is business! Also, slippers made out of bear paws. So comfortable! If you ever make it to Orsinium, ask around.
#A Fighters Guild contract led three imbeciles to slaughter a nearby Goblin tribe. This is the same tribe I'd paid to cull the harpies along the nearby caravan routes! If I were a cynical person, I'd think the Fighters Guild was looking for a more lucrative harpy contract. Did you know they charge twenty times what Goblins do? Maddening!
#Under no circumstances should you ask a Sea Elf to toss you a knotted line. You'd think they'd been trained at the same carnival, the way they all mimed reaching for their drawstrings. And most of them were women! I walked away. I have no interest in knowing just how different Maormer are from the rest of the Elves.
#I received a strange delivery today. At first I thought it a returned shipment, for it was wrapped in the same packaging I use. But inside was a lacquered box, and within that an immaculate silvered cloth that unfolded to the size of a bedsheet. Was this a gift from you for my service? If so, thank you profusely! Such lovely patterns woven in.
#I realize the silvered sheet was not sent from you—forgive my presumption. Still, it is a wonderful bedsheet! I did have the strangest dream last night. I was standing outside a citadel. I heard the strangest song, but I couldn't make out the words. If I could carry a tune I'd sing it. Perhaps I should try? No, no ... I couldn't do it justice.
#Today I woke just before dawn. I heard the song again! I can hum the notes, but the words aren't anything I recognize, and I speak four languages! Did I hear it in the citadel? I must have. I dreamt I was pounding at the door. Such a strange place. I think I'll take a nap after sending this package. The silvered sheet is so warm.
#the words i understand the words for the song is the key to the doorway it spins and twitches and is perfection i must share the song with you it is my duty it is truth but i cannot send away the Argent Chord i must not part with the song or it will leave me the song is endless it must not end or all shall fade
#help me the singing is so loud make it stop
#[Sent under the name of Low-Neck] I am Miss Firi's assistant, Low-Neck. She is very sick so I will be sending you packages until she gets better. She is a private person who would not want details of her sickness shared. Out of respect, I will not say she was found screaming and scratching at her ears in the small hours. Or that her wounds will mostly heal.
#[Sent under the name of Low-Neck] I am still Low-Neck, Miss Firi's assistant. She is very organized and has prepared many packages for you, to be sent if she is ever delayed on a journey. Her long rest is a delay, is it not? Therefore I will send you packages daily. Unless her journey takes longer than three weeks, at which point all I could send is her stockpile of calipers.
#[Sent under the name of Low-Neck] This is Low-Neck. While going through Miss Miss Firi's belongings I found a silvery cloth with black weaving. It smelled strange, like rotten eggs. I traded it for another stinky thing, a small barrel of salted fish which I left by her bedside. She hates the smell of salted fish, so perhaps it will help her wake.
#[Sent under the name of Low-Neck] Low-Neck again. Miss Firi is unable to pay me while she sleeps, so I took my wages from the strongbox where she stores her money. The locked one, beneath the locked trapdoor, under the junk-laden cart. The one with the old tapestries draped upon it. Did you know her decoy strongbox has more locks than the real one? She is a clever woman.
#[Sent under the name of Low-Neck] It is still Low-Neck writing, but not for much longer. I am pleased to say Miss Firi recovers. She no longer screams when she sees my face, so this is progress. It is now more of a whimpering, with occasional prayers to the Eight Divines. I tried wearing an amusing hat, but that led to more screams.
#Please forgive my recent illness. I understand Low-Neck followed the instructions I left him in the event of my absence. I raised his salary, which is to say I agreed he could skim slightly more from my profits. I am still in poor health, but am still capable of continuing your shipments.
#My assistant says you know more details of my illness than I first realized. If I said anything unsuitable, I beg your forgiveness. I still don't entirely understand what happened. I remember writing an angry letter to the Fighters Guild about harpies, and then it was weeks later. Perhaps the ink was poisoned? I'll have it checked, to be certain.
#the singing the singing i can still hear it they never stop why won't they stop
#I can't find yesterday's shipment anywhere. Low-Neck insists he saw me hand it to the courier, but I have no recollection of doing so. Did you receive anything? Low-Neck has never lied to me before. Perhaps I need more rest. I assure you it will not affect my duties.
#A great wave washed three ships into the Anvil docks. One went up in enormous gouts of blue flames. The other two—it was as though the ships began to scream, as though they could feel pain—and then it all stopped. All three carried some of my outgoing shipments, and now their captains refuse to sail.
#Dozens of raiding ships returned to Anvil today. I hear their raid was a failure, which makes for tense streets. Low-Neck warns me to stay inside after dark, at least for the next few days. It seems when raiders lose a big fight, they like to pick many little ones.
#Half a dozen Undaunted provoked some raiders. A tavern game got out of hand and they refused to back down. Usually these things end in a few broken teeth, but not today. I've never seen any hung from a mizzenmast's spars before. Today, I saw it happen six times.
#Tragic news. At dawn, horsemen wearing Imperial armor rode down pilgrims traveling to a distant shrine of Arkay. I asked around this morning, but nobody knew any details—or even of the attack. Were the soldiers Imperial cavalry, or bandits wearing stolen armor? I suppose it doesn't matter when dozens lie dead.
#I'm no longer allowed in my favorite tavern. Word of the massacred Arkay pilgrims arrived in Anvil last night. How could I have known yesterday morning? It happened while I slept! When pressed, I could not recall how I knew. I could tell they were afraid of me. Perhaps drink is the last thing I need right now.
#Low-Neck said I was speaking Jel in my sleep. I'm not sure what should have me more concerned: that I was talking in the Argonian tongue, a language I've never learned, or that my assistant was in my bedroom as I slept. He insisted he was simply looking through my jewelry box for rings to steal. How is that supposed to reassure me?
#My apologies if this arrived with any delay. I couldn't locate my assistant so I had to manage this shipment myself. Low-Neck seems to disappear when there's trouble. I do hope he's all right.
#I have left Anvil for good. It seems the raiders thought me cursed and feared I'd spread it to their ships. Before they could torch my warehouse, Low-Neck smuggled both my goods and myself onto a Dark Elf trading vessel. The crew here are devout, fearing nothing but the wrath of their three living gods. More later. We depart for Vvardenfell.
#The Dark Elf vessel—the Graceful Netch—stopped briefly in Rivenspire. Blood fiends and civil war is all anyone could talk about in Northsalt Village. Also, strange happenings in the nearby city of Northpoint. I don't know the details, but I recommend avoiding uncivil blood fiends should you visit. For me, it's on to Vvardenfell.
#We arrived at a House Hlaalu trading port with a name I can't pronounce. The night terrors were particularly bad last night. The captain of the Graceful Netch recommended I approach House Telvanni. He says if anyone can help me learn about my dreams, it will be them.
#House Telvanni refused to join the Ebonheart Pact with their fellow Dark Elves if it meant giving up their practice of slavery. Yet these isolationist slavers are my only hope at stopping the dreams that haunt me. Should they decide I look better with a yoke around my neck, I've made arrangements with House Hlaalu to continue your shipments.
#Good news! House Telvanni didn't enslave me. They asked me half a day's worth of questions, then sold me some potions they assured would suppress my dreams. All in all, a pleasant experience! Or it would have been, had they not been a pack of muck-eating, slaving bastards. If I'm lucky, I'll never deal with them again.
#I rode a silt strider today. It was very peaceful. I'm not sure I care for how the drivers move them about by poking directly at their exposed innards, but the creatures don't seem to be in any pain.
#It is all so strange here. Towers made of mushrooms. Gods you can meet. This strange obsession with ash which works its way into most of the food, I regret to report. Still, there is enough alike to the rest of Tamriel that I can still do business. And I've already cornered the market on kwama eggs!
#I don't like the sight of Red Mountain. It reminds me of my dreams.
#I write this letter with a heavy heart. The dreams are growing worse. The potions I purchased from House Telvanni aren't working, and I fear I cannot continue in your employ as long as these strange dreams persist. I must consider my options. I will inform you before making any drastic alterations to our business arrangement.
#I came to a decision. A friend once spoke of a wizard in Wrothgar who knows much of dreams. I will head there and see if this wizard can cure me. I hope the bracing air will reinvigorate me, for I do hope to continue as your outfitter for quite some time. I board a ship for colder waters this evening.
#The snows of Wrothgar are indescribable. The mountains here are like enormous clenched fists dusted with great piles of flour. Skyrim Nords boast of their ranges, but nothing compares to these. Just a few more days to Orsinium! From there I will find the wizard who can cure my dreams.
#Another bad dream last night. A million voices, screaming the same word over and over. I couldn't make it out. I suppose that's for the best.
#I no longer travel to Orsinium. My mouth fills with the taste of copper whenever I take a step in that direction. I've petitioned a local shaman for aid in dispelling the dreams. I don't care what he thinks of a foreign High Elf standing outside his stronghold's walls. I just care that he trades knowledge for gold.
#The shaman spoke of a hermit who cures ill dreams. This may be the wizard I seek. Before I head to the mountains, I must thank you for your indulgence. Speaking of this burden has helped lightened its load, and though we've never truly met, I feel a certain kinship. If I may impose upon you to wish me luck, I would be forever grateful.
#Honored client! Due to unavoidable circumstances, Miss Firi is currently unable to personalize your delivery. Your regular shipments shall continue, of course! She anticipates the day when she can once more provide the personal touch she includes with her uninterrupted and reliable service.
==Appearances==
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Category:Online: Tailors
Category:Online: Authors
Category:Online: Hirelings