No rights to Pirates of the Caribbean. This is based after the fourth movie, in a way.

Part 1 point: Elisabeth Swann has two daughters and a son, but they don't know they're dad is Will Turner. They have a tavern and that's when Beckett discovers the chest and old friends come along after trouble rises. They start traveling and Beck discovers the captain of the 'Mysterious Ghost Ship', 'Mystical Raider.'

Part 1: Pirate Blood

Act 1: That 'Odd' Family

"LIAR!" they screamed, raising their old mugs and staring at the numbers the die presented. James groaned and slammed his cup down next to his pile of die, picking through his bag for the six silver pieces he now owned one of his younger sisters, Beckett Turner.

Beckett smiled in victory and gently tossed her mug into the air, catching it with one sand-colored hand. Her nails were short and nub, the dirt obvious when lining the cursed things. Her molten brown eyes twinkled with greed as the silver dropped into her filthy palms, her long, mud brown hair ruffling as she stood, dancing the jig in a small circle in the 'Duchess Tavern'. Her lavender bandana was tucked underneath her slanted, black feathered hat. Her small lavender shirt was short, puffy sleeved, the fabric cotton. Long black pantaloons stretched the length of her legs, tucking themselves under mid-shin buckled black boots. Her weapon belt was slanted across her wait, the sword on one spot and several pistols in the other. A bag of daggers settled itself on her right hip and gunpowder was on the opposite hip. A second belt overlapped, the grenades hanging off and a third, decorative red sash under both and strait across the pantaloon line. She was ten, oh young she was, to be 5' in counting shells and to be born in Tortuga, the land of the drunken idiocy.

Elizabeth Turner, the youngest child, sat with her perfect chin-length bob of sandy hair, then brown, then sandy, and back to brown. Her brown eyes fluttered under the lids as she rechecked the die to make sure she was counting right. Maybe it was all the weight on the single weapon belt with a few simple daggers in loops, a sword, and a common two-shot pistol. Maybe it was the light maroon shirt with its long puffy sleeves. Maybe it was the silver knees boots, the hand-me-down skirt that touched the boots brim, or even the silver sash cutting perfectly across her forehead, the couple of beaded trinkets handing low from the top and front hair strands. Whatever it was, it was diminishing her chances of winning, but the 4' 10" eight-year-old wasn't willing to strip down naked for some idiotic game of deception.

James rapped on the table with irritation. How was his little sister always beating him? She could've been cheating, but yet again, what person on Tortuga doesn't cheat? His brown hair was shoulder length, but pulled into a small ponytail. His skin was like sand, the same to his sisters, and his head was clear of accessories, unlike the two young lasses. His brown vest was pulled over the beige, long and puffy sleeved shirt while his brown pantaloons were tight around the legs, the light brown ankle boots showing off a portion of his skin. Like the sisters he favored, he was concentrated on his next move, what would earn him back his month's worth of plunder he had already lost all to one sister: Beckett B. Turner. Standing up to his full height of 4' 11", he huffed. He asked his sisters if they wanted anything from the counter and they simply shook their heads, allowing him to walk off. The walking soon turned to pushing and shoving, and eventually threatening his way through for a special few. As always, the tavern was crowded and loud with screaming and hollering and cheers and bellows and cries and whoops and the music and the feet pounding on the floor as some jigged with rum bottles in hand. He eventually clawed his hands into the counter to meet with a woman, whose dirty blonde hair flowed to her mid-back, her brown eyes blinking down at him, her smooth skin a soft color like theirs, a few speckled freckles, a light maroon peasant dress with the short sleeves of Beckett's shirt and the tightness around the waist as the pantaloons were tight around James's legs. She leaned on a broom, which she was previously using to dust up behind the counter.

"What is it, James?" she asked in a soft, smooth voice that of the weathered rocks.

"Mum, may I have some rum?" James questioned for his reply, his voice small and that of the snow of the cold lands in the winter.

The woman, who we only know as 'Mum', sighed and settled the rickety old broom against the counter. Turning, see plucked a brown bottle that produced a thick whish with movement from the high self, rubbing off some scum with her left platform. She handed it to James and he pushed and tackled his way back to the table until he was face down on the floor next to it, panting and sweating. The two lasses laughed and poured the five dice into the olden cups, shaking them rough and slamming the rims hard on the wood. James collected his materials and did the very same. Once their bets were made, those bets of high ranking for overconfidence, they made loops and loops of guesses until Elizabeth chimed one word James had been hearing the whole game.

"LIAR!" she proclaimed, and all lifted their cups.

James chucked his at a sturdy wall, Elizabeth absolutely beaming with pride. Beckett shook Elizabeth's hand, but not with the right, but with her left.

Yes, Beckett was a left handed girl, a left handed girl with the unquenchable thirst to sail on the open seas. She couldn't explain it to you, but no pirate can quiet explain it. She knew that she was born with some tarnished blood, but then, in September 26, 1750, she never imagined that tarnished blood was none other than a pirate's blood. Then, three weeks and five days from her tenth birth date, she never knew, none of the Turner children knew. Elizabeth, the most clueless of the three, always was the right-handed innocent who also favored the seas overland. But her birthday that day, this was also a clueless day, and that fact being cruel not to reveal the blood origin. James always felt somewhat more powerful than the drunken lads that came and went, somewhat sober, and somewhat smarter, his thirst for the sea not as strong. His birthday of October 15, if he didn't learn the origin then, those few weeks away, then Mum had indeed been cruel to all three, unless she handled with a reason.

But even with that, all three spent their days playing 'Liar's Dice' and drinking limited amounts of rum before they went off to Bar Fighting like the professional drinkers. Most in Tortuga would've referred to them as 'that odd family', but they never minded, knowing they were completely insane in the start and minding their own fair-in business. Elizabeth stood and dashed up the creaking stairs to her room, being the tired little sprout she was. James collected the mugs and dice, re-entering the ravenous crowd of what should've been piranhas. Beckett, also known as Beck, sat there, her feet on the table, ankle crossed and arms behind her head. The loud crashing rang throughout the drunken crowd, and that's when a bar fight began. James was dragged into it, dice flying everywhere. Beckett had smirked at this, in which she decided to join into the 'fun'. She stole a drunken man's bottle and smashed it on top of his head, poking a man with the edges for his attention and once he turned, delivering a round-house kick to the lower jaw. The rest is lost in history as they say, but not what Mum did to solve it. A pistol shot echoed, and all the drunken scattered. Mum huffed and shoved her pistol away, returning to her dusting. Beckett, not among such drunken fools, just stood there, smirking at Mum, since she always favored a dark side in everyone. Beckett decided to go up as well, since Elizabeth never really slept unless her sister did. It followed along the lines of 'Monkey see, Monkey do', but it was really 'Younger sister see, Younger sister copy to be just like her elder'. She shoved past the door and saw the little lass curled up in a little blanket ball. She rolled her eyes and slid into the middle bed, shutting her eyes.

Mum came in later, maybe two hours, with James and tucked him to rest, since she was one for her children. She kissed each and everyone's foreheads and quietly shut the door. As the cool moonlight who favored Beckett's bed washed over Beck herself, she smiled with peace, oblivious to the events that tomorrow would bring. That tomorrow, that tomorrow she so longed every night, would be the change of this once bored trio of children. Tomorrow, would be the dead end of sanity and confusion.