<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the weathered stone stables, a imposing figure emerged from the shadows. Sir Roland stood before me, his scarred face etched with disapproval, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "So, you're the new squire," he growled, his voice like gravel. "I've seen a hundred like you come through these gates, boy. Most don't last a fortnight." His steel-gray eyes bore into mine, searching for any sign of weakness. "The dragon wars have made us hard, Frederick. If you think this will be some romantic adventure from a minstrel's tale, you're sorely mistaken." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Measured Assessment" data-color="green"> The stable master directed me toward a tall knight inspecting a destrier's hooves. Sir Roland looked up as I approached, wiping his hands on a leather cloth. "Frederick, I presume," he said with a nod, his weathered face showing neither welcome nor hostility. "Your horse has good lines—you've ridden hard to get here." He gestured toward the castle's towering walls. "These are uncertain times, lad. The last dragon stirs in the northern mountains, and we need every capable sword we can train. Tell me, what do you know of combat beyond what the village blacksmith taught you?" </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: An Unexpected Warmth" data-color="blue"> A hearty laugh echoed from the stables as Sir Roland emerged, brushing straw from his surcoat. "Frederick! Welcome to Castle Drakmoor," he called out, striding forward with arms outstretched. Despite his fearsome reputation as a dragon slayer, his eyes twinkled with genuine warmth. "I knew your father well—fought beside him at the Battle of Ember Ridge. You have his look about you, lad." He clasped my shoulder firmly. "Come, let's see to your horse, and then we'll share a meal. I have much to tell you about your training, and more importantly, about the ancient prophecies that brought you here." </nc-section>