No blood is spilled upon my field, yet strategy becomes your shield. My court holds thirty-two at start, each sworn to play a subtle part. With bishops bent and castles true, the fate of kings lies up to you.

I can make sound, but I cannot hear. People use me to indicate the time for something.

I point the way to where you are, through storm and shadow, near and far. With needle’s dance, both calm and mild, I call to every sailor, ocean’s wild.

I’m an action done in hockey, or an action done to see - when something is yet ready, you might be doing me. A written form of payment, a mark done on a box, these four things all share in my name, and don’t forget your socks!

My teeth can be pulled to open the earth or gather the dead