A broken losing streak, at least.

True to her words, the guards stepped into the room looking about it before gesturing for him to follow. In true Vanheim fashion there were endless forms and bureaucratic rituals to complete before he could actually be released and he dragged himself from office to office, answering the same questions over and over again until he suspected he might go mad.

He'd finished yet another hurdle when he was confronted by a small, squirrely looking fellow with a long, drooping mustache and neat mutton-chops. "Roblin Bearheart?" He questioned, holding his hand out for the latest set of forms.

Roblin surrendered them with a nod, the process almost automatic at this point. The man wore the prison uniform, a dirty blue coat and pants with nickel buttons and black piping. It was modeled after the army's uniform, but somehow lacked the impression of professionalism from its inspiration. He flipped through them quickly, before nodding. "Come with me." Turning, he led Roblin down the corridor of offices he'd been working through for the past hour, turning down a set of narrow stairs that brushed Rob's shoulders on either side. They descended into a warren of tightly clustered cells, thick stone walls forming three sides with iron bars forming the fourth. Most were filled with various supplies for running the prison but soon they were among a group seemingly filled with neatly organized junk.

The guard stopped before a small window set into a stone wall, surrendering Rob's forms to a figure inside. "Key 1138." After long moments the forms and an iron key appeared through the window. The mustachioed figure turned back towards the maze of cages, seemingly navigating them through memory alone as they moved briskly along.

Suddenly his guide stopped, opening one of the cells and stepping inside, gathering a large basket and shoving it out of the door to him. "Your effects." He grumbled. When Rob paused he gestured to the basket. "I require the container back."

Rob pulled the lid off, bundling up everything within and kicking the basket back towards the man, who returned it to the cage without comment. For his part, Rob stared at the items with a touch of confusion, before starting to pull them on, paying no mind to his guide. Once dressed properly and wearing proper boots he felt more even-keeled than he had in ages.

The rest of the process was thankfully short and soon enough Rob was walking out of the gates of the prison. He had somehow survived his imprisonment and now he needed a stiff drink and a fuck.