I'm hard and black, tied to December. If I'm found in your stocking, you've probably been good.

it's a quest word for me, so no alt words please. Golden soldiers stand in endless rows, whispering secrets in rustling tones. A staple of hearth and feast, ringing in fields of plenty.

A solution to dark. Can be held with a stick. Used as a weapon, with past pointed tips. An oxygen thief, bellowing signal blips. On the roof, need no water. Death can bring lakes of it.

I have keys but no locks. I have space but no room. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. What am I?

Gem of the autumn, bright as a November sun, calming amber light.