Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFEJ4TRKXF24SQMS2G8R42S

<nc-section data-title="Sir Roland's Welcome" data-color="red"> The stables were a hive of activity as grooms tended to weary horses. A broad-shouldered knight in polished plate armor, his surcoat bearing the crest of a silver hawk, emerged from a shadowed doorway. He moved with a calm authority that parted the busy crowd. "You must be the new squire, Frederick," he said, his voice a warm, deep rumble. A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I am Sir Roland. Welcome to Dragon's Keep. I trust your journey was fair?" </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Knight's Observation" data-color="green"> The scent of hay and horse sweat was thick in the air. A figure detached itself from the stone archway leading to the armory—Sir Roland, the local garrison commander. He watched Frederick dismount for a moment, his gaze analytical. "Frederick of Thornwall," Sir Roland stated, not asked. He gave a single, firm nod. "Your reputation precedes you. They say you have a good seat on a horse." He gestured to a young groom. "See to his mount. Then report to me. There is armor to polish and lessons to be learned before dusk." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Stablemaster's Greeting" data-color="blue"> As Frederick’s horse was led away, a voice cut through the stableyard chatter, low and gravelly. "Squire." Frederick turned. Sir Roland stood in the deepening shadows between two stalls, his face half-hidden by the brim of his helm, which he carried under one arm. He did not smile. "The stables are for those who have earned their spurs. State your business here." Only when Frederick stammered his introduction did a flicker of something—not warmth, but perhaps recognition—pass through the knight's eyes. "See that your gear is stored," he said, his tone softening a fraction. "We begin at first light." </nc-section>