<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder, a gruff voice startled me. "Well, look what the wind blew in," it boomed. A towering figure with shoulders broader than a barn door stood before me, a knowing smirk twisting his lips. It was Sir Roland, a knight renowned for his battle prowess and equally for his rough demeanor. He eyed me up and down, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "You the squire then? Heard whispers. Hope you're more than just polished buckles and fancy silks." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> The stablehands hadn't finished securing Thunder when a hand landed, heavy and firm, on my shoulder. I turned to see a man built like an oak tree, his face weathered and scarred but with eyes that sparkled with good humor. "You must be Frederick," he said, a wide smile splitting his face. "I'm Sir Roland. Heard you were joining us. Welcome to the chaos, lad." He clapped me on the back, the force of it nearly sending me stumbling. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> The scent of hay and horseflesh filled my nose as I led Thunder into the stables. A figure emerged from the dim interior, silhouetted against the dying light. "You're late," the figure said, his voice sharp and clear. It was Sir Roland, his face cast in shadow, his expression unreadable. "A squire must learn the value of time. See that it doesn't happen again." He turned and disappeared back into the stables, leaving me with an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. </nc-section>