Distant rememberings of a mad lich
There were five. Five fingers to a hand, five toes to a foot, five points to a star, but not to the sun. Together they made up a whole. Could be whole without one, though. Plenty of hands missing a finger. They work just fine if you care to learn to use them.
The man cast a spell to learn of other spells. I felt it like a fingernail flicking the inside of my throat. I felt their little feeling hands on my phylactery. They asked whether I should live or die and decided I was not worth death. I am Exethanther and I am too far gone for death to touch me. This is death.
They found my library. They found the door that led them there and tried to read books with words they cannot see. Those words are not for them. Not for me. For someone else. Someone with no souls to save. No sisters, no sorrow, no chains, no bloody hands.
There were living things dead down there. Strength from blood, not magic. Cursed. The prodding ones came to find a curse. They came for knowledge like any others might.
Like with any others, knowledge is not the only prize to be won. There is treasure here. Great treasure. Treasure guarded by golems who seek no prize at all. They are lucky it cannot follow past the threshold. I hope it is worth it.
It was not worth it for me.