One of the world's oldest currencies, It has brought many a wonder and ruin concurrently. A vital substance, a binder for oaths, It has always traveled far beyond the coasts. The source of purity in many song and ballad, Ages later, we honor it still, placing it as a root for 'salary' and 'salad.'

Wood or metal, bone or stone, with magic at it's core. One way or the other, a symbol of power.

I wear a helmet, rugged and brown, From towering palms I tumble down. Crack my shell, hear water sing, A hidden lake in a wooden ring. White snow hides beneath my coat, Island treasure, sailor’s note.

Oh look, a sponge, a carrot, and velvet. For gods sake, who made these? Whoops, I almost just spelled it. Layered, stacked, iced and topped for occasion, so many a flavor, with candles a blazin’.

I travel the world but never move alone. I carry your secrets, clothes, and more. I’m packed before the journey, unpacked at the end. What am I?