Crafted by cunning conjurers, a crypt of curiosities conceals whispered secrets. Within, chapters of the arcane await the adept who dares to delve.

I'm long and hollow, a buoyant friend in liquid's embrace. What am I, used for fun and to stay afloat with grace?

I can fly when made of fabric, and stop a sword when of steel.

An artist’s hand gives me my face, with pigments laid in careful place. I never breathe, yet scenes remain, forever held within a frame.

An Englishman couldn't fathom me in gravy, An American couldn't imagine me in tea. To some nations I am sweet, To others, savory. What am I?