[center][h3][b][color=coral]The Air Feels Wrong[/color][/b][/h3][/center]

Ash, Smoke, Heat

His eyes struggled to open due to the suffocating atmosphere as he began to rise from the ground. Wiping away the soot from his eyes and coughing up the thick air to try and get something better to his lungs, he hadn't realized that the others had already started to move away from him. He needed to compose himself but every breath felt jagged and hot. A scene plays in his head, foggy and distant, but on repeat with new details being showed to him each time. Feel the heat and then channel the wind, that's what he needed right now, some wind and with it fresh air. It took time, and genuine effort to muster up even the smallest of gusts but he managed to push away the filth and inhale some stale but unpolluted air. 

[color=lightcoral][i]Something's off. I should be, more, connected, with the wind. Is it not, in my blood? This isn't right, this isn't my wind. I have no connection to it. My magic is weaker wherever this is.

Magic? Right, I was a mage. My teacher, showed me how to escape the limits of my heritage. But now, I'd do anything to have it's benefit again. 

My body, looks different? Doesn't it? I'm older, than I was in that memory. What happened before that? And how much happened after it? How old [/i]am[i] I now? These, scars, they're new, aren't they?[/i][/color]

His hand follows a dark jagged scar that contrasts his marble-colored skin as it extends up from his fingertips and all the way to his elbow. Then there was the circular scar in his abdomen, where he imagined a spear stabbing him but missing his vitals. Paired with a few sword scars here and there, he could tell this body had been in a few fights since last he had it. Who was he fighting though, and over what? He was a student, not a soldier, and he rarely traveled so he couldn't imagine having been to combat or being set upon by bandits and yet the scars remained. So who could have caused them? How much had his life changed since that first important lesson. Whatever the case may be, he couldn't just stand here. It was important to keep moving and gather as much information as he could now that he had so little.

He moved to rejoin the group that had been around him not too long ago. I wasn't hard to find them as they didn't move too far and they weren't the quietest bunch. He just barely made out one saying something that felt like a threat and then another of the group, a woman, chastising the man for it. 

Everyone seemed out of sorts and most seemed unwilling to speak, except one who seemed unwilling to stop speaking now that she had started. She may have been a little unhinged in his opinion, but she was asking all the right questions. And then some. He had decided to walk up to her side as a way of showing some support towards what she had asked or at least to some of it being answered. He normally wouldn't be so quiet, but he was hoping someone would answer those questions first. There was one question though that demanded being asked that the talkative one hadn't...

[color=coral]"Does anyone, remember their name?"[/color]