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All was quiet in the Holy See of Ishgard, which was nothing to be surprised of at three bells in the morning. Of course, this didn't mean "Hilda's Hounds" rested on it's haunches; The militia was always vigilant, maintaining it's watch over the streets while the knights were off fighting wars on foreign soil. Regular patrols were made, especially at night, and on this night a midlander hyur had drawn the 'short straw' as it were.

Loretta Mercer walked through the Jeweled Crozier, Ishgard's marketplace, with a carbine on her back, and mist in her breath from the cold. The light clack of sturdy thighboots against granite echoing along the empty street. The shops were, of course, closed at this bell, but if there was anyone there they would notice that the brisk-walking woman also had a stiffness to her movement, as well as a look of irritation or concern on her freckled features.

"Seven hells, I knew drinking that flagon of ale at the Forgotten Knight before duty was a bad idea." She thought to herself. While the drink had dulled the cold of the night that had been commonplace over the past five seasons, it had quickly passed through the hyur's dainty body and filled her bladder. Stopping behind a closed stall, she took a moment to take a deep breath, a hand moving under her blue tunic to clutch at the front of her quartertights. A moment, two, and three, and she felt at least a little more confident she could make it through the rest of her patrol without drenching herself. Dignity aside, the warmth would be short-lived in this sheer cold, she knew.

Continuing her march, she made it about a dozen more yalms before a pain caused her to stop and clutch herself, this time out in the open. She realized she was pushing herself too hard this time, and begrudgingly decided desperate times called for desperate measures... possibly even ones she would have arrested another for doing.

Walking at a brisk pace, she located a small alleyway off to the side, with a crate left abandoned in it. Hastily rounding the crate, she lifted the hem of her tunic to unbutton her short breeches, before pulling them down to expose her sky blue panties. Suddenly, she heard voices from the street, and stopped... as much as it pained her. She was so close! In the dead silence of Ishgard's eternal winter, however, her stream would be audible even from the street for one with keen ears, and the last thing she needed was some pervert to discover her making water in public.

Pressing her hand against the front of her panties, she shut her eyes, and listened to the conversation to distract herself from her burning need to release. It sounded like two men, gruff ones at that. "Any 'ounds around 'ere?" "No, not that I can see... and keep yer bloody voice down, would ye? You got the stuff?" A moment passed, and the rustle of cloth could be heard. "Quality somnus, grown down south in Thanalan by those refugees. Top quality." "Good. The Durendaire lordling will be pleased. Now get the sod outta here..."

Normally, this would be exactly the situation that Loretta was out to deal with, but there was a far more dire problem facing her. Listening to the footsteps echo into the distance, she felt herself start to dribble, the front of her panties starting to darken and get damp. Once she felt it was safe, she practically tore the poor things down and unleashed. A hiss sounded from her tufted womanhood, a puddle quickly forming between her feet. Some of her pent-up pee splattered up on her thighboots, but there was nothing to be done... besides, the relief was -amazing-.

After what felt like an eternity, her stream finally came down to a trickle, then a few droplets. The midlander opened her eyes, having shut them in bliss after holding for so long, to see steam rising from the sizable puddle underneath her into the frigid night air. Looking down she realized that the puddle had spread beyond her feet, making the soles of her boots soaked as well, to which she groaned. However, it seemed all of her clothes, even her panties which she loved dearly, were salvageable. For this she thanked Halone, the Fury for granting her mercy.

Quickly standing and getting her panties and breeches back into place, she exited the alley and made her way back to the Forgotten Knight to write up a report. It seems there was a small drug trafficking ring springing up in Ishgard which would have to be dealt with. After that, the freckled girl would be hitting the pillow hard after such a long patrol.

The next morning, there was a small incident.... a porter was attempting to clear an alleyway of an abandoned crate when they slipped on a small, oddly yellow patch of ice. Where the stray liquid had come from couldn't be discerned, but it wasn't the first time alleyways had become icy inexplicably... and it wouldn't be the last.

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