When the northern wind gusts
Through trees bare of leaves,
Take heed and take watch,
For the Executioners Three.
Their blood oath is summoning.
First comes the fog,
Rising from the shore.
Once rings the bell:
Cold death is in store.
The Hangsman is rising.
Next are the crows
To block out the sun.
Then twice rings the bell,
To warn everyone.
The Headsman is coming.
Third comes the ice
Wreckt upon the stones.
Thrice rings the bell.
No chance to atone.
The Disembowler is hunting.
Third is the heat,
A sign it’s too late.
No bells are rung
When the Three leave the gate.
The Oathmaster is waiting.