Run: 2026-05-10-01KR91H5C0047X8X0TJAPJDRJD

<nc-section data-title="The Arrival: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, the heavy thud of boots against cobblestone announced the approach of a towering figure. Sir Roland stood by the stable entrance, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his weathered longsword. His face was a map of scars, and his eyes, cold as winter iron, appraised me with a disdain that made my skin prickle. "You’re late, squire," he growled, the smell of oiled leather and stale ale clinging to him. "The stables don't muck themselves, and the dragons' kin are restless tonight. Pick up a pitchfork, or leave before the sun hits the horizon tomorrow." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Arrival: A Gentle Beginning" data-color="green"> I had barely stilled Thunder's restless trot before a hand clamped firmly onto my shoulder. I turned to find Sir Roland, a man whose reputation for battlefield ferocity was eclipsed only by his legendary patience with neophytes like me. He offered a weary but genuine smile, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of the sunset. "Ease your mount, lad," he said, gesturing to the stable hand waiting nearby. "You've a long road ahead of you in these halls, but for tonight, rest is earned. Come, let’s get you settled before the evening bells ring." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Arrival: The Ominous Encounter" data-color="blue"> The air near the stables felt stifling, charged with an unnatural static that made the fine hairs on my neck stand up. Sir Roland emerged from the shadows of the arched doorway, his armor clanking with a rhythmic, funeral cadence. He didn't offer a greeting, nor did he look at me directly; instead, he stared past me toward the distant mountains where the last of the dragon-fire still flickered in the twilight. "You chose a poor time to seek knighthood, boy," he whispered, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "The dragons are waking, and they care little for the rank of the men they burn." </nc-section>