downtrodden wizard amnesia

Drip, drip, drip, you dream a faucet of gold is dripping into a sink of marble. After a few drips you dream your eyes are closed, and that you are laying down on a cold wet surface, you open your eyes to realize the dream has put you in a cold, dank cell, with rusted bars. But you feel so tired you yawn and then the drip you were dreaming about hits your head. You weren't dreaming at all, you realize this is not good. Did the —King?— have you locked away? Now you don't remember who you swore allegiance to, if it was a king or duke or priest. What will ever happen to your lavish —umm, estate, maybe— now you can't remember your home. Then you wonder who you are and realize you don't know anything other than your childhood, "what is my name?" you whisper as if the moss in the corner will answer. Forgetting everything about yourself causes one to panic, you feel you absolutely must get out of this cell. Mustering all the power you have, you try to cast some sort of incantation, then the mystery —of what you're trying to do— hits you in the face with the palm of your hand. You don't remember how to use magic, of course. But the most useful information you do remember is that you used to know how to use magic. Maybe you have connections with a wizard who can renew your memories with some spell or something. Now, how to escape this prison first. The walls are made of rough-hewn stone, are slick with dew, the uneven floor is covered in patches of moss and grime. A flickering torch outside the cell provides the only light, casting long shadows that seem to dance along with the drip, drip of water. To your left there's a small, cracked basin, holding a shallow puddle reflecting the torchlight. The faint outline of a door is barely visible through the shadows—wooden, but securely locked. A thin, almost imperceptible breeze flows in from the cracks of the door just then, stirring the dust around you. That was outside air coming in, it must mean that door leads to the outside.