Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8N82S7J1JS1FPV3CK1MCT

Okay, here are three alternate prose sections continuing the story, following your instructions and utilizing the specified colors. ``` <nc-section data-title="Sir Roland's Greeting - Version 1 (Red)" data-color="red"> The scent of hay and horses filled the air as I dismounted Thunder. A gruff voice boomed, "Well now, you must be Frederick. Heard you were arriving." A man, broad-shouldered and clad in well-worn armor, emerged from the stables. Sir Roland. His face was weathered, etched with the lines of countless battles, and his gaze was intense. He didn't offer a smile, just a curt nod. "Leave your mount with Dorkin here," he gestured to a stable boy, “and report to the training yard at dawn. No excuses, squire. The life of a knight is not for the faint of heart.” His words were a challenge, a test of my resolve. I swallowed hard, striving to appear more confident than I felt. </nc-section> ``` ``` <nc-section data-title="Sir Roland's Greeting - Version 2 (Green)" data-color="green"> As Thunder and I approached the stables, a knight in shining armor stepped forward. "Welcome, young Frederick," he said with a warm smile. "I am Sir Roland, and I trust your journey was agreeable?" His eyes, a clear and honest green, crinkled at the corners. He moved with a quiet grace, despite his imposing size. "Dorkin will see to your horse," he said, motioning to a nearby stable hand. "Come, let me show you to the guest quarters. A warm meal and a good night's rest are essential before you begin your training. We'll discuss your duties in the morning. Welcome to Castle Aeridor, Frederick. I have a feeling you'll be a fine addition to our ranks." </nc-section> ``` ``` <nc-section data-title="Sir Roland's Greeting - Version 3 (Blue)" data-color="blue"> The stables were bustling with activity when I guided Thunder inside. A knight paused from tending to a warhorse, his face shadowed by his helmet. He removed it slowly, revealing a face of striking features and piercing blue eyes, like chips of glacial ice. "You're Frederick, I presume?" he asked, his voice cool and measured. "Sir Roland." He offered a brief, almost dismissive bow. "Your accommodations are prepared. Training begins promptly at dawn. There's much to learn, and little time to waste. Dorkin," he addressed the stable boy without looking at me, “see to the stallion’s needs.” He turned back to me, his gaze unwavering. "Don't disappoint me, squire." </nc-section> ```