He was born in a housing project in Leyawiin, to a dysfunctional family of mixed Imperial and Nordic descent. His father, Olic Rock-Heart, an alcoholic who frequently abused his wife and children. His mother, Moriaia Rock-Heart, was also abusive to Cero, hitting him with broom handles and other household objects to stop him from stealing. He also had two other siblings as well. His older brother, Creedic Rock-Heart, who was convicted of [censored] and murdering a 12-year-old girl. When asked about his brother Creedic's crimes, he replied: "We come from the same father.” He also had a younger brother, Florian Rock-Heart, but eventually, Olic's beatings resulted in the death of him. In the aftermath, the family lied to the guards, saying that Florian had fallen down a flight of steps. Cero spent the remainder of his childhood fantasizing about murdering his father. By the age of 10, Cero was filled with rage and began acting out against the priests at the Great Chapel of Zenithar that he attended.

At the age of 14, Cero ambushed and beat Lucius Vedrisi, the leader of a small gang of teenagers known as "The Project Boys," who had bullied him for some time. Following a particularly bad beating Richard sought revenge, attacking Lucius with a thick wooden club, eventually beating him to death, although he denied wanting to kill Lucius. Cero then dumped Lucius's body off a bridge into the Niben River after setting him on fire in an effort to prevent identification of the body. He then went on to beat and nearly murder the remaining six boys in Lucius's gang. Cero later joked that, "Giving is better than receiving." The harshness of life did more than just destroy his capacity for compassion and love. It did more than teach him how to hate. The world Cero grew up in, the only life he knew, taught him to ignore his recognition of emotions. In Cero’s eyes emotions were for the weak.

The Dark Brotherhood took notice of the incident. Cero would be a promising candidate. Cero, 16 years old, abandoned his abusive parents to their ways and found refuge in the streets of the Imperial City. One early morning, Cero awoke to the sense that something wasn’t quite right. He felt his right pocket noticing the slight weight difference from the night before. Inside; a folded note with a black hand printed on the front of it. He knew the symbol all too well and he knew what it all meant. Mechanically, he left the city and travelled through the night to the city of Cheydinhal. In the streets, knowledge of the Dark Brotherhood was bleak, but Cero had pulled from every direction. He knew of the abandoned house. That very evening, a Silencer by the name of Sodril took him out onto the streets of Cheydinhal. From shadow to shadow, rooftop to rooftop, they lurked. Sodril was testing him, Cero knew. Finally, they found their selves just on the outskirts of the city. They had been stalking a man walking his dog, nothing more than a simple farmer.

“Kill him.” Sodril ordered.

Without hesitation, Cero simply walked up to the man, looked him in the eye and drove a dagger into his throat. Something about this disturbed Sodril. It wasn’t Cero’s choice in execution. It wasn’t the lack of resentment in Cero’s actions. It was the lack of satisfaction that perplexed him. Not a single hint of emotion crossed Cero’s face. As if the killing never took place. Most killers would have shown a sign of enjoyment in the act. At that moment, Sodril knew that Cero would rise quickly in the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood.

The years rolled by and the body count rose. Vedrisi was the last name Cero took for himself- To remember his first kill. Cero indeed rose in the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood, but settled into the rank of Assassin by his own choice, stating that he cares nothing for status, power, or pleasing their precious Night Mother. Regardless of his status in the Dark Brotherhood, Cero only took his orders from the Listener; the highest rank in the Dark Brotherhood. With his emotionless balance and expert training, Cero became the Dark Brotherhood’s most dangerous weapon. Sense and muscle honed to precision, he became a something more than a man. But he aged no differently. As he became older, he became wiser to his station in life. Cero couldn’t say when he started to become disgusted with his existence, as far as he was concerned- it was the moment he was born. But he understood that the life he led was a miserable excuse of living. He acknowledged as well that his choice of profession was just as disgusting. He just couldn’t care enough to accept another option. This was his lot in life and he did it well. In Cero’s eyes, his only escape was his one true weakness; to drink. There was a pain deep in his gut that he could not shake and so he drank it away when he felt he earned the right.

Reaching the crest of his prime, Cero could feel the changes in his body. To the outside world, and to the others in his Brotherhood, there was no sign of weakness. He was still as deadly as ever before in their eyes. But Cero could feel it within himself. It was time for him to quit. He understood that the Dark Brotherhood wouldn’t simply just let him walk away. He accepted the idea that they would probably make an attempt at his life. They would probably succeed, but not without massive losses. He wouldn’t go alone, this much Cero did know. But he promised himself one last contract.

It was an Argonian male from the Marsh by the name of Charuul. The only information he was given was his mark’s last known position; on the border of Skyrim. He felt something within himself stir at the notion of travelling to Skyrim. That very day he set out for the border of Skyrim, seeking information about his target along the way, stopping at Bruma to find out that he was only a day or so behind his mark.

A few days later, in the gloom of night, Cero stepped into an unremarkable tavern to find his mark, an Argonian just as unremarkable as his current residence, sitting by the open fire sipping from a mug. Casually, Cero bought himself a mug and walked over to Charuul. He sat down quietly next to him without looking his way.

“Skyrim is a cold place for an Argonian from the Marsh,” Cero breathed.

Charuul paused to take notice of Cero; sizing him up, in a sense, to gain a greater understanding of Cero’s purpose. Something about Cero’s presence shook the man to his very core. He, all of the sudden, felt a chill colder than Skyrim. But it was Cero’s next statement that illuminated this dread he now felt.

“I’ve been sent to kill you,” he paused to look the man right in the eyes, “I think you know who sent me.”

It was Cero’s boldness in openly declaring his intent that sent Charuul into an inner panic. He didn’t get up. He didn’t run or scream. Because of Cero’s blatant confession, the man knew beyond a doubt that he would not live to see the sunrise. He couldn’t speak, he could barely breathe. He just sat there, hands shaking, attempting to drink from his mug.

Cero took note of the rising fear and sighed.

“I grow tired. I can feel it in my body. I am bored with what I’ve become. I’ve never had a purpose to kill beyond the necessity of living.” He paused once more to make eye contact with the man. “I find no pleasure in killing, you should know this.”

Cero took a sip from his mug, stood up and walked out of the tavern.

The Argonian could hardly believe what had transpired. Charuul wasn’t sure what to feel. He had escaped death, this much he did know. They sent a tired, aging assassin and it was his good fortune. He took a bigger drink from his mug to calm his nerves and ordered three more mugs. Charuul felt it was a moment of celebration, a new beginning to his life. This night would forever remain with Charuul for as long as he lived.

Finishing his final mug, Charuul rose from his chair and made his way out of the tavern. The night was cold, but the alcohol running through his blood kept him warm. On his way to his cabin, he noticed a glimmer on the ground. Three gold coins.

“This is indeed my lucky night,” Charuul jested.

Scooping up the coins, he bent back up and paused. His eyes locked in horror. The warmth he once felt inside his body was not felt running down the back of his tunic. He felt the sharp pressure of something being driven into his body and the embrace of a hand around his mouth. He felt the hot breath of someone close to his ear. The last words Charuul would ever hear were;

“I never said I wasn’t going to kill you.”

As Cero slid his blade back out of the man, a patrol of guards turned the corner of one of the surrounding buildings. He looked at the troupe and nodded. Perhaps this is the better way he thought to himself. With complete acceptance of whatever fate laid before him, Cero through his dagger and blade into the cold, snowy streets and fell to his knees. The guards surrounded him and took note of the body displayed before them. As the guards carried him away, Cero felt an expression cross his face that had been lost to him for as long as he could remember. He felt a smile spread across his face.