The world is full of fiends. With all of the goodly folk now hidden away in lonely hamlets and vales, save a number of bustling, cosmopolitan cities like Harp’s Edge, there are few remaining to uphold the dead notions of chivalry and justice.
In the cultural milieu that Rickety Stitch has found himself steeped in these last decades of his unlife, to be called a fiend is to be paid a compliment. A fiend is to be respected. A fiend takes what is his without question, even if that means lopping off a head or two. A fiend steps on the necks of his enemies and friends, and pays the consequences never.
Of course, Rickety Stitch and the Gelatinous Goo have no idea what it truly means to be fiendish; they’ve merely been fed this hegemonic narrative from corporate dungeon bigwigs, who unwittingly appropriated most of their corporate culture from the ancient edicts of Felmog warfare. No different than an impressionable youth led astray by the wrong crowd.