Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP8D745PC1TADP638X1E53

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Commander" data-color="red"> Dismounting Thunder near the sprawling oak-beamed stables, I took a moment to brush the travel dust from my tunic. Before I could even call out for a stable boy, a massive shadow fell over me. It was Sir Roland, the local knight whose reputation for strict discipline had echoed across the realm. He wore a heavy chainmail hauberk even in the evening warmth, his arms crossed over a barrel-like chest. "So, you're the new squire," his voice boomed, the gravelly sound scattering a flock of roosting pigeons from the rafters above. "I expected someone with broader shoulders, boy. See to your mount quickly. Let's hope your spirit is stronger than your stature." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Weary Veteran" data-color="green"> I guided Thunder through the heavy archway and toward the bustling stables, the smell of sweet hay and polished leather washing over me. A man was already there, gently brushing down a scarred roan gelding. He paused as I approached, turning to give me a weary but genuine smile. It was Sir Roland. He looked older than the bold tales had suggested, the deep lines around his eyes speaking of countless campaigns, but his gaze held a kind light. "Welcome to the keep, Frederick," he said softly, handing his brush to a nearby stable hand and stepping forward to clasp my shoulder. "A long ride, no doubt. Take your time seeing to your fine beast, then come inside. There is hot stew waiting, and you'll need your strength for tomorrow." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Eagle-Eyed Mentor" data-color="blue"> As I brought Thunder to a halt by the open stable doors, a sharp whistle pierced the evening air. Sir Roland vaulted nimbly over the wooden paddock fence, landing with the grace of a man half his age. His armor glinted in the fading amber light, and an intricate dragon crest was emblazoned proudly on his tabard. He didn't introduce himself immediately; instead, he stalked around Thunder, inspecting the stallion's flanks, my saddle ties, and my riding posture with an eagle's eye. "Good form. Kept a steady pace and didn't run the beast to the ground," Roland declared with a brisk, satisfied nod. "Greetings, Frederick. I am Sir Roland. I hope your mind is as sharp as your horsemanship, because out here, we train fast, and we train hard." </nc-section>