"Write a short story in which the last line is the countdown to midnight on New Year's Eve."

Long before the eye of the Sun God looked upon the world with favor, the peoples of Arak-Sa were desolate. Unlike many of  the other races, and peoples which grew upon these lands, they had not evolved naturally, rather, they did so when the first of their people found the shimmering pools, and drunk deeply from the waters of eternity. Yet their time was over. Sa-Uraga held her blade firmly in her hands, and watched as the mortal enemies of her race came. The ground shook beneath their armored feet, and the oxen driven sleighs carried many, the spears and slings that they carried primitive, yet effective enough to slay a score of Arak-Sa.

Hundreds approached, carrying no banners nor flags. Sa-Uraga saw that which led at the head, a giant of a man, who's thick armor was dyed red with the blood of her people. She knew of him, of the terror that he brought under his wake. His auxiliary flanked the side of his own forces, the degenerate Lizard Folk, which she recognized by their distinct red color, marched alongside in the snow, surrounded by torchbearers. Each of the torchbearers came with a distinct red covering on their faces, hiding them from the elements. Sa-Uraga felt a hand on her shoulder, and turning, saw her shaman Sa-Rath. His eyes were deeply set, and his mouth slightly ajar, his large fangs jutting out. Like most of her people, he held many of their ape like features, though his were far more evident than most.

"Uraga, Uraga. Do not fear their numbers, for I feel no presence of the power upon them. Tonight, as the new year comes in, we will feast upon their flesh."
"I fear them not, Rath. They are less than beasts. Go now, prepare the sacrifice, though tell me, how long will it take to commune with The Mother."
Rath scratched at the sores on his hairy arms before answering, "The Mother is beyond time, though she will answer swiftly if the sacrifice is done right."

Sa-Uraga nodded, and began her preparations. She was no fool, as many thought her to be, as she knew that the eyes of the mother would come closest on that very night, without much need for the Shaman. There would do no good in risking it without the Shaman, and so she left him to do what he must. The goats which her people used to bring themselves here were cut upon, the pooling blood collected into large, ornate bowls. Those that felt the power would soon begin chanting the rituals, adding the tools needed for the Shaman. The cold weight of the responsibilities that were thrust upon her weighed her down, though she knew that she could not dwell upon it. She closed her eyes, and waited for the sound of the blaring horn.

She waited for what felt like hours, ignoring the cold winds that blew towards them, trying to push aside the doubts that crept into her mind. She had never seen The Mother, nor did she know if there even were gods to begin with. Would Sa-Rath endanger their last remaining people for this moment of triumph, or to humiliate her and flee himself? She couldn't fully believe otherwise, despite there being no true way of knowing. The sound of the horn broke her away from the trance like state she was held in. She looked toward the skies. There wasn't long left, if the stars were still to be believed.

The invading people charged towards where Sa-Uraga was positioned, their axes and spears raised high. Sa-Uraga made the signal to her bodyguard, a giant ape, who let out a guttural war-cry of his own, which was echoed by the rest of the few defenders. Arrows flew overheard as her archers shot into the oncoming force. Their stone arrows slammed into the ranks with great force, knocking those struck back several feet. Another volley felled another dozen, breaking apart their ranks. A third struck, and some began to flee under the hail of death. Sa-Uraga looked into the distance, into the night sky. There wasn't long until the ritual was complete.

Those of Arak-Sa were a brutal, barbaric group. It took the screamed threats from Sa-Uraga, and the presence of her captains to keep them from falling upon their enemies in a tide of screaming madness. Another volley of arrows struck, though it did nothing to halt the oncoming Lizards. The chanting behind her grew louder, the voices sounding like chatter as they called upon The Mother. Her shaman was the loudest, screeching as he held the bowl of blood above his head in an offering towards her. There was little time left, and Sa-Uraga threw her head back, howling in a passion. At this her own line broke, and her people ran before her. Axes met spears, and her people crushed those that stood before her. Sa-Uraga almost felt pity for them, the tiny, hairless apes that buckled under the assault of her people.

What she saw before her made her hair stand on end for the enemy leader stood against her, axe in hand. Draped across his shoulders was the pelt of two chimps, their skulls dangling loosely atop his shoulder-plate, their tongues pulled out, and nailed to his armor. Sa-Uraga let out a howl and charged towards the sight, leaving her much slower bodyguard behind. She swung wildly, enraged, though she aimed low, fearful to slice into the flesh of her own, despite them being dead already. Her enemy capitalized on this, deflecting her blows with relative ease, and pushed her backwards. She slipped, stumbling on hidden ice, and he swung. She watched as her sword hit the ground, her bloodied hand still grasping it firmly.

Enraged she lunged towards the man-thing, throwing both him and her onto the cold. A sharp pain pierced her hide, but she ignored it. She grasped his neck in her massive hand and began squeezing with all of her worth, lifting his head up slightly before slamming it into the ground with all of her might. Within a few moments it was over. Around her the cries of pain and struggle sounded, but she paid no regard to it. She looked towards the skies, as stars of the mother moved closer. It would be seconds until the ritual would be completed, the blood drank and the pact fulfilled. Sa-Uraga, with great difficulty looked behind her, to where the shaman was. The bowl lay upon the ground, smashed into pieces. He sat upon his knees, blood pooling from his throat. She tried to laugh, but the pain was too great. She looked upon the stars.

The mother was almost watching, her gaze almost upon them. Upon their failures.

Her eyes trailed down, staring at the sword which pierced through her chest, and to the man which looked towards her. His eyes were glazed over, but she felt his heartbeat, and she counted the seconds by it. As she felt the fifth weak beat the skies were alight with the colors of the mothers light, streaks of green and purple danced among the stars, and she fell.

Set your story during polar night.

"There was little to be done," one man said quietly to himself, as he grunted against the log that he was forced to carry, "that's what they told us innit it. One more little thing to be done before we got out of this cursed wind."

Kostya glared into the back of the mans head with intensity, grinding his teeth in defiance against the pain which burned in his arm. It had been several days since they had last looked upon the sun, and his bearded companion did little to make matters better. His constant complaints were received well when they first met. It was almost endearing, similarly to when a relative visits a little too often, or when a child insists on helping you with a matter, but keeps making too many mistakes. By the second day it had grown old. With the sun refusing to rise, Kostya didn't know how much longer that she could deal with the other. Heaving the log with the others, Kostya and his companion turned, and began walking to where the others were, being sharpened by other servants.

"All I'm saying," Vasya began again, unable to see the pained expression on the other mans face, "is that it isn't right for the nobles to leave us out here like this. Freezing, lost, and for what?"
"To prepare defenses against those that ride upon the Emberwind, and the things which we have not seen beyond the sno-"
"But that doesn't make any sense!"

Vasya said, cutting off Kostya and stopping to look his friend in the eye. Kostya had become accustomed to it, as it was part of his companions personality, and one that he could easily ignore. Vasya was quick to speak, and seemed completely incapable of slowing himself down, or thinking through something before he began. Kostya looked around him, trying to find any that might overhear the dissent coming from Vasya, but seeing no one motioned for his friend to explain himself.

"We're out here, making defenses against a group of barbarians that neither me, or you have ever seen. Nobody else has either, you know," Kostya furrowed his eyebrows in frustration at that. Spreading dissent was a grave offense in these parts. "and trying to find a way to somehow catch these divine cursed creatures, what- elementals? Of course nobody even knows what they look like."
"Our people are further in the north, following the track of giants. Yet we haven't seen any. Would you say that the giants are a lie too?"
"Without a doubt, my friend! Is it any wonder that the armies are further north, chasing shadows? And we, the able bodied are left to squander our lives in this divine forsaken place? And what has become of our homes since we have been forced to leave."
"You speak true, Vasya. But to what end would-"

Vasyas hand was on Kostya's shoulder in an instant, gripping tightly as a patrolman walked by them with a slight limp, the purple plume upon his iron helm glowed with a faint magical energy. Vasya gave a curt nod, and Kostya greeted the man with a polite greeting in their mother tongue, though both were ignored by the guard.

"You recognized that man, hadn't you Kostya," Vasya said once they were out of earshot, and Kostya nodded in agreement. "he was one of ours, one of the guards from our own town. He was a master with those two axes of his. Remember when they drove out the black locusts? Not even the beasts would wander our streets because of him after that."
"He was a guard from our home, yes. But is he not the one that we used to laugh at? The brave soul which stood, guarding the ale at the Witches Cauldron? If our best were being sapped, why would they bring him to watch over this whole thing?"
"Because," Vasya said slowly, and patiently, "he is a familiar face. Divine, he's not even the only guards from our town that was taken! Ivan, Aladas, even the blacksmith. I've seen them, and spoken to them when I got a chance. They're all here. More than ours. Watch the others. See how they stop work just to show that one respect? They all bear the same mark on their arms."
"Many towns and villages must have been conscripted. You've always been too loose with your speech, and carried by these dreams of yours. Can you not see the truth that is before your eyes?"
"What truth? The truth that we cannot speak of?"

Vasya pointed a finger towards a lean man, who had forgone a hat. Despite his youthful appearance, he had a large bald spot, which glistened with sweat.

"The whipping last night was done to his brother. I stayed behind, and spoke to him. Fifty lashes, Kostya, for asking one too many questions about the barbarians. We're not preparing for anything. I'd bet that a nobleman has killed one of his own, or a member of another powerful family. A noble fears everything, and nothing at all. Even the emperor has sacred laws above his own, and fears that there will be nothing left to show of it if the law is fully lived. Or a nobleman has spoken out of turn in their strange customs and they demanded blood honor. But I would stake my life on there being no, so called, barbarians in these woods."

Vasya had always been able to convince his friend of things, and his passion truly drove in the point which he was trying to make. Kostya looked into the distance as they raised the log to their shoulders. He saw many, and just like them, were working to build defenses. Beyond them he saw the guards on duty, their spears pointing towards what lay beyond the wall. Kostya squinted for a moment, but shook his head and looked away. He swore that he could see firelight in the distance, but chooses to ignore it.