NaN Rage is a Typographic Universe in and by itself. NaN Rage is a collection of 7 different but matching font families. An homage to 19th century titling wood-types (slab-serifs, early sans-serifs, rounded…) but also to early computer fonts. Rage is an ahistorical type system anchored in the present times. It offers a wide typographic palette including 2 slab-serifs, 2 sans-serifs, 1 rounded, 1 script and 1 weirdo.
Each family ranges in widths and weight from Extra-Condensed to Standard and from Thin to Black, allowing for very strong headlines as well as comfortable long-form text setting in the Standard and Narrow widths. With their matching proportions, contrast, weights and language support, Rage families were designed to work seamlessly together.
Typeface: NaN Rage Designed by NaN NaN Team: Hugues Gentile, Fanny Hamelin, Fadhl Haqq, Léon Hugues, Jean-Baptiste Morizot, Luke Prowse, Florian Runge, Jolana Sýkorová Additional Engineering: Igino Marini
Year: 2024 Languages: Supporting 305 latin based languages Formats: TTF, WOFF2 (Autohinted)
Devices like the ‘pilnie-winks’, which sounds quite cute and quaint but are actually thumb screws, & iron ‘caspie-claws’, which were big heated leg irons, usually extracted confessions from the supposed witches.
Crimson Tide
George looked out onwards towards the apple trees, sat betwixt two tombs. One his fathers, the other, someone else’s, presumably. As he did every day, incessantly, he sat polishing his axe, although polishing is a kind word for smearing in this case. George was a very serious man. George was a very dull man. He was a Knight and jesus christ, didn’t you know it?! It’s all he talked about. It’s just turned 601 AD by the way, it’s January 1st. Christian, a fellow Knight – but significantly more chill – strolled over, as he did everyday to speak to George where he was everyday. It was not a routine Christian liked, due to George’s previously mentioned boring character. “How do you, Sir George?” Christian bellowed, before coughing. “You alright mate, you struggling?” He added. “Do you know which day it is, Sir Christian?” he spat in retort, “it is the day my Father passed, past,” he injected, cutting off Christian before he had the chance to speak. “A sad day, Sir George, but was it not in May that yo–” he was cut off again. “WITH MY AXE, IN THESE HALLOWED FIELDS, AMIDST THE JOHN’S JUDGEMENT, WITCHCRAFT MY EYE, 601 BE THE YEAR, DIONYSAIC I BE, AVENGE BECOMETH I.” There was a pause. “Huh?” Christian asked. “MALLEUS MALEFICARUM!” The half-groat dropped. The utter pointlessness of this daily endeavour appeared crystal clear before his eyes. He walked away from George and never spoke to him again. It was a new year, and a new Christian. No more mister nice Sir. George’s Dad wasn’t dead anyway. His name’s Colin and he works as a dab hand in the bakery.
Krzemionki-23, Poland (flint)
Devices like the ‘pilnie-winks’, which sounds quite cute and quaint but are actually thumb screws, & iron ‘caspie-claws’, which were big heated leg irons, usually extracted confessions from the supposed witches.
Myrtle Lake
George looked out onwards towards the apple trees, sat betwixt two tombs. One his fathers, the other, someone else’s, presumably. As he did every day, incessantly, he sat polishing his axe, although polishing is a kind word for smearing in this case. George was a very serious man. George was a very dull man. He was a Knight and jesus christ, didn’t you know it?! It’s all he talked about. It’s just turned 601 AD by the way, it’s January 1st. Christian, a fellow Knight – but significantly more chill – strolled over, as he did everyday to speak to George where he was everyday. It was not a routine Christian liked, due to George’s previously mentioned boring character. “How do you, Sir George?” Christian bellowed, before coughing. “You alright mate, you struggling?” He added. “Do you know which day it is, Sir Christian?” he spat in retort, “it is the day my Father passed, past,” he injected, cutting off Christian before he had the chance to speak. “A sad day, Sir George, but was it not in May that yo–” he was cut off again. “WITH MY AXE, IN THESE HALLOWED FIELDS, AMIDST THE JOHN’S JUDGEMENT, WITCHCRAFT MY EYE, 601 BE THE YEAR, DIONYSAIC I BE, AVENGE BECOMETH I.” There was a pause. “Huh?” Christian asked. “MALLEUS MALEFICARUM!” The half-groat dropped. The utter pointlessness of this daily endeavour appeared crystal clear before his eyes. He walked away from George and never spoke to him again. It was a new year, and a new Christian. No more mister nice Sir. George’s Dad wasn’t dead anyway. His name’s Colin and he works as a dab hand in the bakery.
Adventure Solution Creatures Y£$!
Devices like the ‘pilnie-winks’, which sounds quite cute and quaint but are actually thumb screws, & iron ‘caspie-claws’, which were big heated leg irons, usually extracted confessions from the supposed witches.
Fuschia Swell
George looked out onwards towards the apple trees, sat betwixt two tombs. One his fathers, the other, someone else’s, presumably. As he did every day, incessantly, he sat polishing his axe, although polishing is a kind word for smearing in this case. George was a very serious man. George was a very dull man. He was a Knight and jesus christ, didn’t you know it?! It’s all he talked about. It’s just turned 601 AD by the way, it’s January 1st. Christian, a fellow Knight – but significantly more chill – strolled over, as he did everyday to speak to George where he was everyday. It was not a routine Christian liked, due to George’s previously mentioned boring character. “How do you, Sir George?” Christian bellowed, before coughing. “You alright mate, you struggling?” He added. “Do you know which day it is, Sir Christian?” he spat in retort, “it is the day my Father passed, past,” he injected, cutting off Christian before he had the chance to speak. “A sad day, Sir George, but was it not in May that yo–” he was cut off again. “WITH MY AXE, IN THESE HALLOWED FIELDS, AMIDST THE JOHN’S JUDGEMENT, WITCHCRAFT MY EYE, 601 BE THE YEAR, DIONYSAIC I BE, AVENGE BECOMETH I.” There was a pause. “Huh?” Christian asked. “MALLEUS MALEFICARUM!” The half-groat dropped. The utter pointlessness of this daily endeavour appeared crystal clear before his eyes. He walked away from George and never spoke to him again. It was a new year, and a new Christian. No more mister nice Sir. George’s Dad wasn’t dead anyway. His name’s Colin and he works as a dab hand in the bakery.
The Destruction of Reason, 1902.
Devices like the ‘pilnie-winks’, which sounds quite cute and quaint but are actually thumb screws, & iron ‘caspie-claws’, which were big heated leg irons, usually extracted confessions from the supposed witches.
Sunglow Main
George looked out onwards towards the apple trees, sat betwixt two tombs. One his fathers, the other, someone else’s, presumably. As he did every day, incessantly, he sat polishing his axe, although polishing is a kind word for smearing in this case. George was a very serious man. George was a very dull man. He was a Knight and jesus christ, didn’t you know it?! It’s all he talked about. It’s just turned 601 AD by the way, it’s January 1st. Christian, a fellow Knight – but significantly more chill – strolled over, as he did everyday to speak to George where he was everyday. It was not a routine Christian liked, due to George’s previously mentioned boring character. “How do you, Sir George?” Christian bellowed, before coughing. “You alright mate, you struggling?” He added. “Do you know which day it is, Sir Christian?” he spat in retort, “it is the day my Father passed, past,” he injected, cutting off Christian before he had the chance to speak. “A sad day, Sir George, but was it not in May that yo–” he was cut off again. “WITH MY AXE, IN THESE HALLOWED FIELDS, AMIDST THE JOHN’S JUDGEMENT, WITCHCRAFT MY EYE, 601 BE THE YEAR, DIONYSAIC I BE, AVENGE BECOMETH I.” There was a pause. “Huh?” Christian asked. “MALLEUS MALEFICARUM!” The half-groat dropped. The utter pointlessness of this daily endeavour appeared crystal clear before his eyes. He walked away from George and never spoke to him again. It was a new year, and a new Christian. No more mister nice Sir. George’s Dad wasn’t dead anyway. His name’s Colin and he works as a dab hand in the bakery.
Prototype BETA-1
s not ready?
Devices like the ‘pilnie-winks’, which sounds quite cute and quaint but are actually thumb screws, & iron ‘caspie-claws’, which were big heated leg irons, usually extracted confessions from the supposed witches.
Glitter Pond
George looked out onwards towards the apple trees, sat betwixt two tombs. One his fathers, the other, someone else’s, presumably. As he did every day, incessantly, he sat polishing his axe, although polishing is a kind word for smearing in this case. George was a very serious man. George was a very dull man. He was a Knight and jesus christ, didn’t you know it?! It’s all he talked about. It’s just turned 601 AD by the way, it’s January 1st. Christian, a fellow Knight – but significantly more chill – strolled over, as he did everyday to speak to George where he was everyday. It was not a routine Christian liked, due to George’s previously mentioned boring character. “How do you, Sir George?” Christian bellowed, before coughing. “You alright mate, you struggling?” He added. “Do you know which day it is, Sir Christian?” he spat in retort, “it is the day my Father passed, past,” he injected, cutting off Christian before he had the chance to speak. “A sad day, Sir George, but was it not in May that yo–” he was cut off again. “WITH MY AXE, IN THESE HALLOWED FIELDS, AMIDST THE JOHN’S JUDGEMENT, WITCHCRAFT MY EYE, 601 BE THE YEAR, DIONYSAIC I BE, AVENGE BECOMETH I.” There was a pause. “Huh?” Christian asked. “MALLEUS MALEFICARUM!” The half-groat dropped. The utter pointlessness of this daily endeavour appeared crystal clear before his eyes. He walked away from George and never spoke to him again. It was a new year, and a new Christian. No more mister nice Sir. George’s Dad wasn’t dead anyway. His name’s Colin and he works as a dab hand in the bakery.
Der Begriff „leibeigen“ ist da!
Devices like the ‘pilnie-winks’, which sounds quite cute and quaint but are actually thumb screws, & iron ‘caspie-claws’, which were big heated leg irons, usually extracted confessions from the supposed witches.
Viridian Sea
George looked out onwards towards the apple trees, sat betwixt two tombs. One his fathers, the other, someone else’s, presumably. As he did every day, incessantly, he sat polishing his axe, although polishing is a kind word for smearing in this case. George was a very serious man. George was a very dull man. He was a Knight and jesus christ, didn’t you know it?! It’s all he talked about. It’s just turned 601 AD by the way, it’s January 1st. Christian, a fellow Knight – but significantly more chill – strolled over, as he did everyday to speak to George where he was everyday. It was not a routine Christian liked, due to George’s previously mentioned boring character. “How do you, Sir George?” Christian bellowed, before coughing. “You alright mate, you struggling?” He added. “Do you know which day it is, Sir Christian?” he spat in retort, “it is the day my Father passed, past,” he injected, cutting off Christian before he had the chance to speak. “A sad day, Sir George, but was it not in May that yo–” he was cut off again. “WITH MY AXE, IN THESE HALLOWED FIELDS, AMIDST THE JOHN’S JUDGEMENT, WITCHCRAFT MY EYE, 601 BE THE YEAR, DIONYSAIC I BE, AVENGE BECOMETH I.” There was a pause. “Huh?” Christian asked. “MALLEUS MALEFICARUM!” The half-groat dropped. The utter pointlessness of this daily endeavour appeared crystal clear before his eyes. He walked away from George and never spoke to him again. It was a new year, and a new Christian. No more mister nice Sir. George’s Dad wasn’t dead anyway. His name’s Colin and he works as a dab hand in the bakery.
Lysergic Acid Diethylamide*
Devices like the ‘pilnie-winks’, which sounds quite cute and quaint but are actually thumb screws, & iron ‘caspie-claws’, which were big heated leg irons, usually extracted confessions from the supposed witches.
Phlox Waves
George looked out onwards towards the apple trees, sat betwixt two tombs. One his fathers, the other, someone else’s, presumably. As he did every day, incessantly, he sat polishing his axe, although polishing is a kind word for smearing in this case. George was a very serious man. George was a very dull man. He was a Knight and jesus christ, didn’t you know it?! It’s all he talked about. It’s just turned 601 AD by the way, it’s January 1st. Christian, a fellow Knight – but significantly more chill – strolled over, as he did everyday to speak to George where he was everyday. It was not a routine Christian liked, due to George’s previously mentioned boring character. “How do you, Sir George?” Christian bellowed, before coughing. “You alright mate, you struggling?” He added. “Do you know which day it is, Sir Christian?” he spat in retort, “it is the day my Father passed, past,” he injected, cutting off Christian before he had the chance to speak. “A sad day, Sir George, but was it not in May that yo–” he was cut off again. “WITH MY AXE, IN THESE HALLOWED FIELDS, AMIDST THE JOHN’S JUDGEMENT, WITCHCRAFT MY EYE, 601 BE THE YEAR, DIONYSAIC I BE, AVENGE BECOMETH I.” There was a pause. “Huh?” Christian asked. “MALLEUS MALEFICARUM!” The half-groat dropped. The utter pointlessness of this daily endeavour appeared crystal clear before his eyes. He walked away from George and never spoke to him again. It was a new year, and a new Christian. No more mister nice Sir. George’s Dad wasn’t dead anyway. His name’s Colin and he works as a dab hand in the bakery.
S I D E – B Y – S I D E Z
“Beau*!”
Witchcraft was not declared a capital offence in Britain until 1563, although it was considered heresy and denounced as such by Pope Innocent VIII in 1484. From 1484 until around 1750, approximately 200,000 witches were tortured, burned, or hanged in Western Europe. It was not a nice time to be alive really, especially if you were a witch. Most alleged witches were typically old women and invariably poor, so you can guess who were the people prosecuting them…
“Slab*!”
Witchcraft was not declared a capital offence in Britain until 1563, although it was considered heresy and denounced as such by Pope Innocent VIII in 1484. From 1484 until around 1750, approximately 200,000 witches were tortured, burned, or hanged in Western Europe. It was not a nice time to be alive really, especially if you were a witch. Most alleged witches were typically old women and invariably poor, so you can guess who were the people prosecuting them…
“Sans*!”
Witchcraft was not declared a capital offence in Britain until 1563, although it was considered heresy and denounced as such by Pope Innocent VIII in 1484. From 1484 until around 1750, approximately 200,000 witches were tortured, burned, or hanged in Western Europe. It was not a nice time to be alive really, especially if you were a witch. Most alleged witches were typically old women and invariably poor, so you can guess who were the people prosecuting them…
“Soft*!”
Witchcraft was not declared a capital offence in Britain until 1563, although it was considered heresy and denounced as such by Pope Innocent VIII in 1484. From 1484 until around 1750, approximately 200,000 witches were tortured, burned, or hanged in Western Europe. It was not a nice time to be alive really, especially if you were a witch. Most alleged witches were typically old women and invariably poor, so you can guess who were the people prosecuting them…
