The rusher was sent to Marsember, the decadent, mist-shrouded, oppressingly damp settlement in Cormyr. His unique qualification for cajoling, unraveling finicky locks and alarms magical, and warding dubious intent from poking minds was needed; for this was the land of war wizards, albeit few and scattered in Misty Marsember, and the objective was also a wizard. A timid and reclusive young man not even in his twenties, the objective was on the outset no different from the other diviners that noble houses and merchant families hired to stay appraised of their rivals' doings and foil potential assassins. The difference soon told, was his honesty, for unlike other peddlers of prophecies, the objective truly had the gift of knowing. He grew up in Arabel, and neither had friends nor the desire for such. He often troubled his parents with questions of the soul, mortality, and human nature. As a glum-faced teenager he apprenticed under Mellomir, a renowned sage and diviner. He pined for the affection of a noble's daughter though she spurned him severely. In order to make ends meet, he was employed by a Marsembrian merchant as a humble teller of esoteric truths.

The rusher did as he was told; at the designated corner on the hour before midnight he met the task's hushman, who was a stranger until then. The rusher feigned not to notice the hushman's thinly veiled attempts to disguise his voice and after an introduction and a few needless pleasantries they proceded to the objective's abode. Outside the seedy dwelling, the rusher discovered a simple magical alarm designed to foil petty burglars. It was unraveled and the hushman was "rushed" inside unmolested. The rusher waited five minutes then entered. Inside the one-room den, the young diviner was slumped, decidedly lifeless behind a small wooden desk. The hushman was behind him removing a nearly imperceptible garotte from across his throat. Admireably he managed to hush the young man without drawing blood. He drew the body into an oddly voluminous bag and a few seconds later exited without a word. The rusher was left in the abode alone, curiously piqued by the trove of papers and books piled everywhere around him. He peered at the unfinished letter in frantic handwriting resting by itself on the desk. Apparently the objective happened to be a Harper informant, who was writing to a contact about his employer's complicity with a Sembian slave-trader. Tritely, the letter's contents was punctuated abruptly by a splotch of black ink near the bottom.

The rusher purused the wealth of knowledge strewn in the room, reading the dead man's love letters, letters from home, his diary, written accounts of his visions; his aspirations, fears, and peculiar nuances were contained in them. An inkling of an idea crept into the rusher's mind. Was this an opportunity to start anew? He finished a poorly forged letter to the objective's employer, explaining that he had found true love and eloped. From then the rusher's new life began from the end of the young diviner whose name was Cador Tohz.