Garcia is a human warrior who now acts as a sword for hire.
I've heard the priests say that to err is mortal and to forgive is divine. Experience has taught me that to err is mortal and to really fuck things up requires a noble. Hereditary knights, ponces clad in plate, parading around on the importance of a surname which probably earned it's nobility from the fact that in the past their ancestor was wielding a larger piece of tree than everyone else. Still, as the Golden Rule states, he who has the gold makes the rules.
There was a time when I was delighted to don armor, happy to be granted a sword and proud to carry a shield with the heraldry of my lord. But over time, the shield weighed too heavy, the armor became too rusted and the sword became too encrusted with blood. Footmen are made, Soldiers are trained, Knights are knighted but Warriors are forged. They are forged on the anvil of destruction under the hammer blows of war, heated in the fires of battle and quenched in the blood of enemies, to become a weapon wielded in the hands of the nobles, lords, knights, kings and emperors.
Then you have warriors like me, who have lived through the battles and grow to be a little older and uglier each year. I kick some ass and every now and then get my ass kicked. Yet here I remain, nothing but a common sellsword, a mercenary, a private military contractor. They give me gold and once again, I strap on my armor, heft my shield, draw my sword, lower my visor and pray to the great hairy nutsack of Voltik that I make it through another one alive. There are none of us who wouldn't rather be elsewhere, but this is what we do and who we are. And as battle is joined, I remind myself of one thing... I'm not too old for this shit.
Garcia is notable by his black and white tabard and open nature, at oft times carry a two handed sword or a sword and shield. Now living his life as a mercenary he can and should be hired.