Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD51EZRVX1JPBEC5D92T968

<nc-section data-title="Sir Roland at the Stables - Version 1" data-color="red"> The courtyard smelled of hay, leather, and horse-sweat when Frederick finally reined Thunder to a halt before the stables. A broad-shouldered man in a dented breastplate, his beard more grey than brown, was already waiting with arms crossed. "You must be Frederick," the knight said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I am Sir Roland, Keeper of this yard and of every fool squire who thinks he can ride. That stallion will need water and a brush before you need supper. Leave your fine saddle manners at the gate, boy - here we start with work." Frederick dismounted, his legs shaking from the long ride, and offered a hasty bow. Sir Roland snorted a laugh. "Save your bows for the lords. Grab that bucket." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Sir Roland at the Stables - Version 2" data-color="green"> Frederick had barely swung down from Thunder when a laugh boomed from the stable doors. "By the light! You made it in one piece, and so did that pretty horse. That’s twice the miracle I expected." An older knight in a faded blue tabard strode forward, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes were bright, and a long scar ran down his left cheek, disappearing into his smile. "Sir Roland," he said, extending a calloused hand. "Master of Horses, tamer of squires, bane of my lady wife when I track mud in the hall. You must be Frederick - we’ve been expecting you. Old Sir Gilbert wrote that you have good instincts but ride like a sack of turnips." Frederick flushed red as he shook the knight's hand. "I, uh... I'm working on it, Sir." "Good! Honesty too. Come on, let's get Thunder settled. You can tell me about the road while you muck out his stall. Best way to get to know a castle." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Sir Roland at the Stables - Version 3" data-color="blue"> Near the stables, twilight gathered thick. Frederick led Thunder by the reins, searching for someone to report to, when a figure stepped from the shadows of the archway - tall, cloaked in a simple grey mantle despite the knight's spurs at his heels. "You rode through the eastern pass?" the man asked quietly. Frederick startled. "Yes, sir. Is... is this where I..." "I am Sir Roland." The knight's gaze never left the stallion, moving slowly from hoof to flank to eye, as if reading something there. "Your horse is lathered. Your sword-belt is on backwards. And you are two days early." Frederick's mouth went dry. "Am I in trouble, Sir Roland?" At that, the knight's stern mask finally broke. A tired, knowing smile touched his lips. He placed a firm hand on Frederick's shoulder. "No, Frederick. You are just in time. Come. There's much to do before the Council hears you've arrived, and dragons wait for no squire - not even the last one." </nc-section>