Holise
Details
Holise is a versatile typeface that masterfully blends modern and vintage aesthetics. Its condensed form is adorned with distinctive, spicy details on the serifs, giving it a unique and captivating character. This elegant font exudes sophistication, making it a perfect choice for adding flair and distinction to your titles and large-scale text. Whether you're aiming for a contemporary look or a classic feel, Holise brings originality and charm to any design, ensuring your work stands out with a touch of refinement.
- Designed by
- Ines Davodeau
- Released in
- 2024
- Export
- .OTF .WOFF .WOFF2 .TTF (Variable)
- Developed for
- Latin European Languages
Afrikaans, Albanian, Asu, Basque, Bemba, Bena, Bosnian, Catalan, Cebuano, Chiga, Colognian, Cornish, Corsican, Croatian, Czech, Danish, Dutch, Embu, English, Esperanto, Estonian, Faroese, Filipino, Finnish, French, Friulian, Galician, Ganda, German, Gusii, Hungarian, Icelandic, Ido, Inari Sami, Indonesian, Interlingua, Irish, Italian, Javanese, Jju, Jola-Fonyi, Kabuverdianu, Kalaallisut, Kalenjin, Kamba, Kikuyu, Kinyarwanda, Kurdish, Latvian, Lithuanian, Lojban, Low German, Lower Sorbian, Luo, Luxembourgish, Luyia, Machame, Makhuwa-Meetto, Makonde, Malagasy, Malay, Maltese, Manx, Maori, Meru, Morisyen, North Ndebele, Northern Sami, Northern Sotho, Norwegian Bokmål, Norwegian Nynorsk, Nyanja, Nyankole, Occitan, Oromo, Polish, Portuguese, Romanian, Romansh, Rombo, Rundi, Rwa, Samburu, Sango, Sangu, Sardinian, Scottish Gaelic, Sena, Shambala, Shona, Sicilian, Slovak, Slovenian, Soga, Somali, South Ndebele, Southern Sotho, Spanish, Swahili, Swati, Swedish, Swiss German, Taita, Taroko, Teso, Tsonga, Tswana, Turkish, Turkmen, Upper Sorbian, Vunjo, Walloon, Walser, Welsh, Western Frisian, Wolof, Xhosa, Zulu
Holise Variable
- Thin
- Thin Italic
- ExtraLight
- ExtraLight Italic
- Light
- Light Italic
- Regular
- Regular Italic
- Medium
- Medium Italic
- Bold
- Bold Italic
- ExtraBold
- ExtraBold Italic
- Black
- Black Italic
Modern & Vintage Aesthetics
Modern & Vintage Aesthetics
Modern & Vintage Aesthetics
Modern & Vintage Aesthetics
Holise Variable:n1
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“Tell me, I pray, dear master, something about my own kin, my father’s fathers,—those mighty kings, who, I have heard said, were the bravest and best of men.”
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“Ready,” answered Amilias. “Strike!”
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Then the smith seemed pleased again. And his eyes grew brighter, and lost their far-away look; and a smile played among the wrinkles of his swarthy face, as he told a tale of old King Volsung and of the deeds of the Volsung kings:—
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When Mimer reached the top of the hill, Amilias folded his huge arms, and smiled again; for he felt that this contest was mere play for him, and that Mimer was already as good as beaten, and his thrall. The smith paused a moment to take breath, and as he stood by the side of his foe he looked to those below like a mere black speck close beside a steel-gray castle-tower.
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“Long years ago, before the evil days had dawned, King Volsung ruled over all the land which lies between the sea and the country of the Goths. The days were golden; and the good Frey dropped peace and plenty everywhere, and men went in and out and feared no wrong. King Volsung had a dwelling in the midst of fertile fields and fruitful gardens. Fairer than any dream was that dwelling. The roof was thatched with gold, and red turrets and towers rose above. The great feast-hall was long and high, and its walls were hung with sun-bright shields; and the door-nails were of silver. In the middle of the hall stood the pride of the Volsungs,—a tree whose blossoms filled the air with fragrance, and whose green branches, thrusting themselves through the ceiling, covered the roof with fair foliage. It was Odin’s tree, and King Volsung had planted it there with his own hands.
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“Are you ready?” asked the smith.
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“Shake thyself!” cried Mimer.
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But Mimer’s friends waited in breathless silence, hoping, and yet fearing. Only King Siegmund whispered to his queen, and said, “Knowledge is stronger than brute force. The smallest dwarf who has drunk from the well of the Knowing One may safely meet the stoutest giant in battle.”
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“Tell me, I pray, dear master, something about my own kin, my father’s fathers,—those mighty kings, who, I have heard said, were the bravest and best of men.”
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When every thing was in readiness for the contest, Amilias, clad in his boasted war-coat, went up to the top of the hill, and sat upon a great rock, and waited for Mimer’s coming. As he sat there, he looked, to the people below, like some great castle-tower; for he was almost a giant in size, and his coat of mail, so skilfully wrought, was so huge that twenty men of common mould might have found shelter, or hidden themselves, within it. As the smith Mimer, so dwarfish in stature, toiled up the steep hillside, Amilias smiled to see him; for he felt no fear of the slender, gleaming blade that was to try the metal of his war-coat. And already a shout of expectant triumph went up from the throats of the Burgundian hosts, so sure were they of their champion’s success.
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“Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched me,” faintly answered the upstart.
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But Mimer’s friends waited in breathless silence, hoping, and yet fearing. Only King Siegmund whispered to his queen, and said, “Knowledge is stronger than brute force. The smallest dwarf who has drunk from the well of the Knowing One may safely meet the stoutest giant in battle.”
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48px
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Amilias did so, and, lo! he fell in two halves; for the sword had cut sheer through the vaunted war-coat, and cleft in twain the great body incased within. Down tumbled the giant head and the still folded arms, and they rolled with thundering noise to the foot of the hill, and fell with a fearful splash into the deep waters of the river; and there, fathoms down, they may even now be seen, when the water is clear, lying like great gray rocks among the sand and gravel below. The rest of the body, with the armor which incased it, still sat upright in its place; and to this day travellers sailing down the river are shown on moonlit evenings the luckless armor of Amilias on the high hill-top. In the dim, uncertain light, one easily fancies it to be the ivy covered ruins of some old castle of feudal times.
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48px
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“Long years ago, before the evil days had dawned, King Volsung ruled over all the land which lies between the sea and the country of the Goths. The days were golden; and the good Frey dropped peace and plenty everywhere, and men went in and out and feared no wrong. King Volsung had a dwelling in the midst of fertile fields and fruitful gardens. Fairer than any dream was that dwelling. The roof was thatched with gold, and red turrets and towers rose above. The great feast-hall was long and high, and its walls were hung with sun-bright shields; and the door-nails were of silver. In the middle of the hall stood the pride of the Volsungs,—a tree whose blossoms filled the air with fragrance, and whose green branches, thrusting themselves through the ceiling, covered the roof with fair foliage. It was Odin’s tree, and King Volsung had planted it there with his own hands.
LOADING
Figure Styles
Font features
48px
1.0
0.0
When every thing was in readiness for the contest, Amilias, clad in his boasted war-coat, went up to the top of the hill, and sat upon a great rock, and waited for Mimer’s coming. As he sat there, he looked, to the people below, like some great castle-tower; for he was almost a giant in size, and his coat of mail, so skilfully wrought, was so huge that twenty men of common mould might have found shelter, or hidden themselves, within it. As the smith Mimer, so dwarfish in stature, toiled up the steep hillside, Amilias smiled to see him; for he felt no fear of the slender, gleaming blade that was to try the metal of his war-coat. And already a shout of expectant triumph went up from the throats of the Burgundian hosts, so sure were they of their champion’s success.
LOADING
Figure Styles
Font features
48px
1.0
0.0
When Mimer reached the top of the hill, Amilias folded his huge arms, and smiled again; for he felt that this contest was mere play for him, and that Mimer was already as good as beaten, and his thrall. The smith paused a moment to take breath, and as he stood by the side of his foe he looked to those below like a mere black speck close beside a steel-gray castle-tower.
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