<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, a bear of a man emerged from the hay-strewn darkness of the stables, his dented steel pauldron scraping against the stone archway. A jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw, disappearing into a grizzled, iron-grey beard. "Another stray whelp delivered to the doorstep?" he boomed, his voice like grinding stones. He snatched the reins from my hand with a calloused grip. "I am Sir Roland. The man who will either make you a knight or break you into pieces. Let's see which it is." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> A knight with kind eyes and hair the color of salt and pepper stepped out from the stables, wiping his hands on a clean rag. The warm, sweet scent of hay and horse followed him. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice a welcoming balm after my long journey. "A pleasure to finally meet you. I am Sir Roland." He offered a firm, friendly handshake. "Come, let's get Thunder settled. You look like you could use a hot meal and a soft bed." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> Before I could even fully swing my leg over Thunder's saddle, a figure detached itself from the deepening shadows of the stable entrance. He was neither large nor small, and his armor was plain, polished steel, devoid of any house crest. It was his eyes that held me; they were a pale, piercing blue that seemed to assess every inch of me. "Frederick," he stated, the name spoken as a cold fact, not a greeting. "I am Sir Roland. The Lord expects much from you. See that you do not disappoint him... or me." </nc-section>