With brass, steel and nickel I help to unseal all manner of possibilities, I Bow then my blade bites, you turn me and then things open.

By day, I lurk in backpacks, a quiet whisper of responsibility. By night, i am oft attacked and consumed by a nearby beast. By morning, i am frantically sought after, but i will never reach the backpack whole again. What am i?

Orange globe of autumn's embrace, sporting a crown of twisted green. Carved with care, it lights the night, a harvest beacon for all to glean.

Twelve pairs of guards in white stand proud in ordered rows. Each day they shield the lifeblood of their land, is one day of the century that they will stand. So well they’re trained: they breathe as one! Yet wield no weapon, nor ever see the sun.

A circle of elegance, resting gently upon the collar, a silent storyteller of sentiment, often sparkling under the sun's gaze.