My first four, another word for excrement. My last three, an immense, indefinite period of time. Together, a place that may smell of excrement and people may feel like they’ve been there for an immense, indefinite period of time.

I jingle and slide through the snow bringing joy to the night, but misstep my homophone, and it’s quite a fright. One lets you ride with Santa, all cozy and bright, The other- well, you definitely don’t want to do that alright?

A dash, a sprinkle, a tiny amount, Using too much means your victory won't count. Once you reveal it, it can't be undone, You still don't know it? Then you might need one.

The first was wise The last was not. The third loved saints The second loved wroth. The fifth died far too young The fourth was called usurper. Who could I be, I wonder?

My first four letters end in five, My last three a friend always by your side. With a pretty strap or handle to hold, It carries stories and secrets yet untold.