<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder, a gruff voice boomed, "Well, you certainly took your time, lad." A towering knight with shoulders broader than a barn door stood before me. Sir Roland, his armor gleaming in the fading light, was a legend in these parts, known for his courage and his booming laugh. A scar ran down his left cheek, a permanent reminder of a battle against a band of orcs. "Welcome to Castle Silverstream, Frederick," he said gruffly, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> The stablehands hadn't even finished taking Thunder's reins when a hand clapped down on my shoulder. "You must be Frederick," a jovial voice said. I turned to face Sir Roland, his smile as bright as his polished armor. He was a mountain of a man, his beard neatly trimmed, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed a love for good-natured mischief. "Heard you were coming. Hope that nag didn't give you too much trouble," he chuckled, nodding towards Thunder, who snorted in mock offense. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> Before I could even reach for the reins, a figure emerged from the stable doors, silhouetted against the fading light. "Frederick?" the figure asked, his voice deep and resonant. It was Sir Roland, his face half-hidden in the shadows. He moved with a quiet grace that belied his size. As he stepped forward, the light revealed a man hardened by years of war, yet his eyes held a surprising warmth. "We've been expecting you," he said simply, extending a gauntleted hand. </nc-section>