I own nothing,

This is a sequel to my previous story New Carthage, but New Carthage was more back-story than anything the real story starts here, and don't worry I'll have all of the important information that happened in the previous book fed through the first few chapters.

Also Elissa's tale is also started, however unlike New Carthage Elissa's tale is completely optional, it's basically what's going on at New Hippone without Gisco and or Mago. So it's basically something you can read if you're really bored or if you don't understand some of the concepts of Punic mythology.

I know I didn't when I first started thinking about this project.

Diary of Mago Barcid the Fourth

Sorry for those of you who have to go through this again after reading my first book's introduction, but for those of you who can't stand to read something that's almost entirely back-story, like The Silmarillion, this is the beginning of the tale.

Just to make things clear I'm not writing because I enjoy it, that's Gisco Anderson, but to clear up some things that were narrated by a certain Perseus Jackson, written by some guy named Rick Riordan and published by, hmm, I'll get back to you on that last one.

Back to the topic on hand, right now you're probably wondering if I'm Greek, Roman, Egyptian or Norse.

I'll give you a hint, take away the first, second, third, and fourth.

"Wait a minute, that's all of them. Wait you're just some schmuck who can see through the mist and isn't an einherjar or an Egyptian magician." that's what you're thinking right?

Well, you'd be correct then, I am a mortal who can see through the mist, and I am neither dead or a bookworm, that would be Gisco, again. Except he isn't dead.

Unlike Gisco and my bloodthirsty sister Elissa, who isn't actually bloodthirsty but she sadly is my younger sister, I am the very model of a modern major general, except not modern at all because I'm a Carthaginian.

"A Carthaginian oh like um you mean that one chicken eating guy from the last Heroes of Olympus Book." That's what you're thinking, and I have a confession to make, I hate how we were portrayed in that one. I also hated how we were portrayed in The Blood of Olympus, I mean really, "Mhhmm said the Carthaginian"?

I do realize that the Romans have rewritten history to best serve them depicting Carthaginians as treacherous barbarians with no sense of honor.

Our, branding, shall we say still holds sway today, Greek, Roman and Norse demigods and Egyptian magicians try to put a negative spin on modern Carthaginians, such as Vlad III Dracula more commonly known as Vlad the Impaler, Grigori Rasputin, Nikola Tesla, and Wilhelm Von Knyphausen, leader of the Hessian mercenaries during the American war for Independence.

So who are we you ask. Descendants, or mortals who realize that they can see through the mist and find us before they get eaten or killed by monsters recruited by the Hunters of Artemis, if their female, or the Amazons or the Celts.

The final will require some explanation, the Celts are gatherings of mortals who were able to see through the mist or demigods who had their family destroyed due to female members joining the Hunters resulting in a blood feud between the two.

I plan on keeping up with this diary for as long as I live, so it's probably a good thing I don't plan on surviving this mess, less writing for me.

Anyway, I guess I should get to telling you what's currently going on. After arriving in Chicago, Gisco, Elissa, Bethóc and I were led by a Carthaginian named Thomas Kirk to New Hippone, a small haven for Carthaginian legacies, mortals and yata yata.

Unlike the others though I was ordered to leave on a quest the day after with a Greek son of Ares, Xanthippus. The Greek took me to a large stable with two horses already waiting for us. I asked him why we were riding horses and he responded

"I don't want us to be followed by any monsters and if we are I can at least make sure there are no civilian casualties."

"Can't we at least get something faster than a horse, I want to get back in sooner than later."

"Can't ," he said saddling a small brown horse pulling himself up "the saddles are over there he said pointing to a rack of saddles, "I don't have a driver's license and you're not exactly even supposed to be in this country."

I balled my fists, he was right of course, I grew up in Cuba more specifically New Carthage in Guanahacabibes National Park. After the local mercenaries revolted over their treatment compared to the Sacred Band, an all citizen force of the most elite fighters in New Carthage, most of the army fled leaving the common citizens to suffer their fate.

I know this sounds cruel, but it wasn't exactly like the mercenaries had a quarrel with the common citizens, just the members of the citizen army.

I looked at my horse a small, white, timid looking Arabian who looked like he wouldn't be able to handle much weight, I thought back to my horseback riding lessons, I wasn't the best rider but I was able to handle a horse better than most others.

So with that I grabbed a rope looped it around the horse's neck grabbed his mane and pulled myself up.

"Impressive," Xanthippus said guiding his horse over to mine, "However you're not going to be able to stand up after this is done if you don't take a saddle."

I sighed knowingly, "Yeah, well every less pound is probably going to help this horse."

"Probably," He said looking over my horse.

"Ready"? I asked.

"Yup." Xanthippus said kicking his horse's sides.

"I was talking to my horse. Are you ready"?

Thankfully the horse did not respond, with that I kicked my horse and ushered my horse into a gallop in order to catch up.