The end of the line. The lines at the end. The rolling goodbye for those who worked hard in the end.

I welcome royalty, but certain kinds of hermits are welcome, too. Beware, I need some moisture to sustain me, but water is my enemy.

I have rings, but no fingers. I orbit, but never wander. What am I?

With pointed fangs, I sit and wait. With piercing force I dole out fate. Over bloodless victims proclaiming might, Eternally joining in a single bite. What am I?

Flip me, and I’ll show you the odds. Toss me and hope your wish comes true. While I’m young my skin gleams, as I age I become dull and worn. Regardless, my worth remains the same.