I have a square base and rise to a single point, but I'm not a party hat. I was built by ancient hands, but I'm not a ruin in the traditional sense. I hold secrets within, but I'm not a diary. What am I?

In the heart of the forest, where the pine needles lie, a beast warms its belly, breathing heat with a sigh. Enchanted flames dance upon its iron skin, a guardian of warmth, where meals begin.

I make perfect pours, I prevent little spills, I send things downward with ease. I'm a little spider, and weave a neat web, am often referred to as these.

I can be tall and round, but also found with key and code beneath the ground. I can be filled with gold but not the kind you spend. If I'm emptied it's usually to bring about an ugly end.

A warrior's place to fight A finger wears this not too tight A square or a circle depending on the circumstance another name for a call by chance