<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Reception" data-color="red"> I pulled Thunder to a halt just outside the heavy oak doors of the stable, the stallion’s flanks heaving. Before I could even slide from the saddle, a shadow fell over me. Sir Roland stepped out from the dim entrance, his plate armor clanking with a heavy, rhythmic sound. He was a mountain of a man, his face scarred and his expression stern. "You're late, boy," he grunted, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "The Master-at-Arms does not tolerate tardiness. Dismount and report." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> Thunder tossed his head as I guided him into the cool, fragrant shade of the stables, the smell of hay and old leather instantly calming my nerves. A man with kind eyes and a weathered straw hat looked up from grooming a dappled mare. "You must be Frederick," he said with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, setting down his brush. "I am Sir Roland. Come, let’s see to your beast before we see to you; a rider is only as good as his mount." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Watchful Gaze" data-color="blue"> The stable yard was bustling with activity, yet one figure stood still amidst the chaos. Sir Roland leaned casually against a wooden post, slowly polishing a silver gauntlet. He watched my approach with a cool, analytical gaze, saying nothing until I had fully dismounted. As I gathered Thunder's reins, he pushed off the post and walked over, his movements precise. "So, the new squire has arrived," he observed, his tone unreadable. "I trust the journey was... educational." </nc-section>