<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Harsh Welcome" data-color="red"> Sir Roland stood by the stables, his weathered face etched with disapproval. His armor, though polished, bore the scars of countless battles. "So, you're the whelp they sent me," he growled, spitting into the hay. "Late on your first day. Tell me, boy, do you think knighthood is a game?" His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, knuckles white with barely contained irritation. Frederick dismounted clumsily, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to show respect. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Warm Greeting" data-color="green"> "Ah, young Frederick!" Sir Roland's voice boomed across the courtyard as he strode forward with open arms. His smile was genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I've been expecting you. Your father wrote of your arrival." He helped steady Thunder as Frederick dismounted, his movements practiced and gentle. "Come, lad. The stable hands will see to your horse. You must be weary from your journey. Let's get you some hot food and a warm bed before we speak of tomorrow's training." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland emerged from the shadows of the stable like a ghost, his dark cloak billowing despite the still air. He said nothing at first, merely studying Frederick with eyes that seemed to see beyond flesh and bone. "Frederick," he finally whispered, his voice carrying an otherworldly quality. "You arrive at a fortuitous time. Or perhaps... a cursed one." He gestured to the sky where the first stars were appearing. "The dragons stir in their slumber, young squire. Can you feel it?" Thunder whinnied nervously, pawing at the ground. </nc-section>