#mohawk tribe

[lionofchaeronea]

Cradleboard (wood, rawhide, and pigment; 66 cm [26 in] high x 26.7 cm [10.5 in] wide x 26.7 cm [10.5 in] thick) made by an artist of the Mohawk people in Quebec, ca. 1860. Now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, NY, USA. Photo credit: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

[northern-punk-lad]

Wait so I’m a little confused on this If someone could help in assassin creed 3 Ratonhnhaké:ton is a member of the Mohawk tribe and they have him fighting for independence

But if I’m remembering history correctly weren’t the Mohawk tribe on the side of the crown during the revolution not independence

Is this me mixing up history or Ubisoft not thinking their games through

[oh-look-a-stim-blog]

Misc. Camera Roll - Closet

[pomblepompkin]

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐬 𝐩𝐭 𝟒

Michael Hudson in Crooked Arrows 2012

[gogandmagog]

Ida Thompson, Mohawk Nation, c. 1899, survivor of the infamous Carlisle Indian School.

[prairie-tales]

Iroquois pipe, c.1725.

Region: Illinois.

This carved wooden pipe is from northern Illinois and is attributed to the Iroquois, a term used to cover the different tribes of the Eastern Woodlands who had similar lifestyles. These include Mohawk, Oneida and Seneca. The Native American peoples of the south-west made their tobacco pipes entirely of wood but generally, the Eastern Woodland tribes fashioned them completely out of stone, or gave wooden stems to carved stone bowls.

The use of tobacco by the native population was observed by the early European settlers and recorded by Christopher Columbus. The plant was cultivated and grown in the villages of the various Native American tribes, and although used for smoking, had a more important role in ceremonial rituals. Often the tobacco would be ground and thrown onto the fire as an offering. It was also used by shamans as a painkiller for toothache and other ailments. It was also considered a poison. The shaman would draw on these ornate pipes and blow the smoke over their ‘patients’.

Source: ‘Folk Art’, Susann Linn-Williams, pp. 160-61.

[the-art-block]

Family Business - Ancestral

Grandsire: Atena:ti Embraced ??? | Aged 23 years | He/Him Famulus: Kariwase - Mutt of Unknown Breed

Grandchilde: John Wahiake:ron Knight Embraced 1898 | Aged 30 years | He/Him Famulus: Okwaho - Mutt of Unknown Breed

The Night In Question

John yanked the stake free of the giant elder's heart. He leaped backward, putting distance between himself and this immense being. The door out of this cell was behind him, cracked open just enough to allow John a quick retreat, if such a thing became necessary. He stared, eyes wide, as the towering Nosferatu... Remained calm. His great head turned with predatory slowness, bringing those dark, piercing eyes to meet John's.

Y'know, at first he didn't trust the Bronx Nos to know the difference between an "ancient Manitou monster" and a particularly crabby grandparent. But now, seeing this massive, nearly inhuman man slowly animating, he couldn't imagine what it must have been like to witness him in full waking confusion, terror, rage.

The eye contact felt like it lasted hours to John. He saw his own eyes in the elder's sockets, he saw the black lining of his lips, the soft edges of flesh that weren't quite the same color as the rest - he saw much of himself in this creature, it was like looking at a warped mirror that stretched and broadened him. And... it seemed that the creature was seeing the same thing in reverse.

"Sh-...Shé:kon." John's voice felt frail in his throat. The giant didn't react, making him think perhaps he'd actually said nothing at all. "... I-... Iónkiats Wahiake:ron- Kanién'keha niwakonhwentsió:ten..." He was certain he was speaking now, but the elder was still unresponsive. His silent, motionless, hulking form only rested there against the rear wall of the cell, staring. He wondered if even his 1800s dialect of their language was too modern for this ancient to parse. How... old was this man? John took a careful step forward and lowered the bloody stake in his hand. He extended his other arm, hand open, inviting. He continued speaking in their own language, choosing to believe that the giant's unresponsive stare meant caution, not a lack of comprehension. "You already know your sleep was a long... long one, elder. I don't... know when you went under, I don't know how long you spent under the river... But the world is a whole new place now. Most of it for the worse..." he paused to see if there might be a reply, and predictably there wasn't. "... The ones that found you in that burrow, they called me to come and get you, to bring you here." John gestured vaguely to the walls. "You're safe here, we're on our land."

"Ia." the creature spoke, and the voice matched the big fucking throat it came out of. John flinched, and gripped the stake in his hand hard enough to creak the wood. "Iaaaa. I was under 'our land'."

John swallowed. How to explain the relocations to someone this old? He shook his head and raised his hands. "Sakatathré:what- I'm sorry, elder. There's much to tell you, but I am here to help. You've nothing to fear h-" John flinched again as the giant moved. He came forward without urgency, without aggression, but the sight of this creature in motion was a shock in of itself. John shrank, pulling his arms in close to his chest. He tucked his chin against his collar and looked up, eyes wide. The ancient came right to him, loomed over, and then raised a great fucking hand. He wedged a fingertip under John's chin and- with little effort, pried his jaw up. John's head tilted sharply upward, exposing his entire neck. The rest of his form went rigid as he suddenly feared he might be bitten, drained, Diablerized by this creature. He thought of yanking away and attempting to escape, but... would he even make it? How long were this giant's arms? Was the door even strong enough?

"Buckskin." The elder whispered. John blinked, confused, unable to see the elder now with his head tilted so far back.

"U-uh... Oh nahó:ten?"

"Buckskin." The elder repeated. He felt another big finger on the side of his neck, tracing the edge where his white 'underbelly' patterning met the edge of his true flesh tone. His fingertip caught the edge of John's collared shirt and flipped it open, revealing more of his pale chest.

"O-oh... H-hen... Yes." John tried to assert control over the tilt of his head, and the giant gave it to him. He looked up at the huge Nos and frowned. Brows knitted. The veritable wall of a torso before him bore an obvious resemblance. The shapes were different, the gradients were different, but the expression of John's formerly singular mutation was clear.

"Rare." The elder spoke softly. He flipped open the other side of John's collar. "Where did you get it?"

"My maker." John brought his eyes up slowly. "She got it from her's."

"Name her." Something new emerged in the elder's expression. He was old - and his face mangled by their curse, but the trace details of memory, hope even, became clear.

"... Kai-... Kaiennenhawi." John lowered his gaze again.

"Kién... My child." the giant... sighed. It was the first time he'd done anything remotely human-like. He stood back from John but watched him closely. The smaller Nosferatu braced, nose wrinkled, for the question he felt coming. "Where is she?"

"... She's-" He cleared his throat. "She's dead. She died... Many years ago." The elder fell silent again, but John didn't dare look up at him. They stayed like that, not speaking, not meeting eyes, for minutes. The giant made a single noise in that time. It might've been a breath, John also thought it could have been a growl. "Sakatathré:what." He finally looked up. His apology drew the elder's attention back up from the floor. The humanity had fled from his sharp eyes, but he didn't seem angry. The creature turned his head stiffly to look around the cell. At this box. This cage.

"Are we... under the ground?"

"Yes- but... We can go above. It is safe, I just-" John stuttered for a moment, then decided this wasn't the time to express his concerns about his own safety. This elder was certainly an immensely dangerous being from out of time, but he could see the sorrow in this ancient Nosferatu's posture, in his stiff jaw, in his unfocused eyes. "... Grandfather." He reached for the ancient.

"... My blood." The giant didn't reach for him. There was pain, but it wasn't ready to be touched. "...You have a long story to tell me." "Hen. I'll tell you everything."

[twitterexile]