Beleg Lindulare is not a ranger. As a child he showed much promise for musical ability, quickly learned all the old songs, and even made new ones of his own. His talent for the lute and the harp were lauded throughout the village and countryside, his intuition for poetry and new styles and forms of musical composition could rival all but the wiliest old bards, and his voice was considered by all to be his finest asset.
As an elf of modestly affluent birth, his choice of career paths was open to him, but some around him saw chance for profit from his talent. They took advantage of his youth and inexperience and led him beyond his efforts of love for his music down those roads that benefited themselves more and more. His future as a minstrel and balladeer was certain and inescapable, and he was coached by all the finest instructors in each instrument, even at times beyond his preference. Despite the interference, however, Beleg was a wonder to hear and was adored by man and woman, elf and elf maiden. Even the dour dwarves couldn’t help but fall occasionally under the enchantment of his melodies. By the time he reached the relatively young age of 47 his life had the appearance of perfection, until the unfortunate accident that lead to his head injury, his broken right arm, an extensively bruised ego, and total, utter, complete tone deafness.
The story they told him when he awoke was that a band of bandits had waylaid the coach that carried him to a concert for the local gentry. He had remained quietly inside as the brigands took any luggage and valuables outside the carriage, but when one of the masked and cloaked villains opened the door and seized his harp case, Beleg had resisted and the ruffian broke his jaw for it. The commotion provided a distraction and one of the drivers took the opportunity to disarm the bandit, but the struggle managed at once to both throw Beleg under the coach and spook the horses, leaving the poor elf with a wheel track across a broken arm and knocking him unconscious.
Elves are hearty and mend quickly, but not even the best healing arts could return Beleg’s lost musical gifts. For a time he tried to recover his talents through diligent practice and hard work, but as the decades slowly passed he grew aware his efforts were useless and he withdrew from family and friends. The once fair elf dabbled in other pursuits along the way, and was not wholly unsuccessful at some, yet without music his heart grew cold and hard, and his face grew grim. When he could no longer stomach the trappings of genteel civilization he vanished entirely.
The romantic version of his story that circulated among the elvish courtiers had him finally succumbing to his passion and throwing himself from a bridge or seaside cliff. Some versions even tell of the elf bard’s ghost wafting among the shadows at some particularly dramatic locations, though through the long years his name has been lost.
Now Beleg Everlost roams the countryside, friend of the only music left to him, the music of nature. He makes the roads and forests safer for travelers and animals alike, not from any hatred of poachers, bandits, or evil doers, but from a sense of fair play. His desire is that success and failure of elf, man, dwarf, or beast should come from within, from labors of love and passion, from the natural conflict between a being and it’s purpose, rather than from cruel intentions or hapless circumstance. Beleg Everlost is a ranger.