That sign can't stop Cuno, because Cuno can't read.

"Such artistry! Must've taken ages to do all that."

She is referring, deadpan, to the graffiti. The cliff is painted over from corner to corner in crude obscenities, blasphemies, and what are likely cultural references that've gone so high over her head they may as well be gibberish. The half-finished centerpiece taking shape in the ruined hollow over the entrance is… well, it's phallic. There's a kid halfway up the front of the church with a paint can tied to his belt, one hand holding on to a cornice while he paints with the other. Every brushstroke sprays a few droplets of charcoal-black paint onto the crime scene directly below him. This is not the kind of contamination she was imagining when she accepted in her heart that they were several days late, but this is her bed and she's going to lie in it. Best case scenario, the kid remembers some details from before he embarked on this art project.

"Say, what's that spinny thing over there on the left?"

Gwen checks out the spinny thing. It's not a very good drawing, but if you correct for the wobbly parts and squint at it the right way, it's a sort of sexually-embellished spiral.

"It's a blasphemy against Pharasma, I think," she reports.

It's peasant religiopolitical graffiti – the worst kind of art. It's not enough to deface someone else's hard work, they've done it in the laziest way possible. The canvas is reduced to a vehicle for a message, and the quality nosedives harder than a peregrine falcon. Why bother making anything good when you can express yourself so much faster by drawing genitals?

And what message is being conveyed here?

Anger. Disaffection. Disenfranchisement. An eisegesis of the interpersonal relationships of the gods as taught to small children that borders on conspiracy theory.

The psychological profile of someone who has strong feelings about cops. They're going to get along like a house on fire.

Gwen is going to examine the body before anything else can interrupt them.

The corpse has no face. The skin has been removed from neck to hairline, along with many of the facial muscles and connective tissues. It's gruesomely close to being a bare skull. The head is also missing the entire mandible and most of the maxilla, leaving it effectively jawless.

Most of the body is pinned under a single large boulder, with the weight resting squarely on a mud-spattered cuirass. Only the head and the arms are free; everything from the mid-thorax down is hidden from view. The corpse wears nothing visible apart from the cuirass: no shirt, no jewelry, no other armor. Anything else it might be wearing is inaccessible. The only identifying features of the body are its crew cut brown hair and the web of shoulder tattoos partially visible beneath the dirt encrusted on the skin.

"What do you think, detective?" she asks, crouching to get a better look.

"I think he's dead."

"Seriously?"

"Someone ripped his entire face off! It looks pretty serious to me!"

Gwen has one more option if she wants to curtail the tomfoolery, and she is now angry enough to use it. It's an extreme response, but desperate times call for desperate measures. She stands up, steels her nerves, and removes her headband.

"Put this on," she says gravely.

She examines the headband. It's a smallish silver tiara with three shiny rocks set in the frame – ruby, sapphire and emerald would be apropos given their coloration, but since she doesn't know the first thing about identifying gemstones they could very well all be tourmaline. What she does know is this: the headband is a source of wizardy power, and Lt. Gwen would not invest her with it lightly. She raises the tiara—

Do NOT put that headband on. Bad, bad, terrible things will happen if you use that headband. Give it back to her and pretend you never laid eyes on it.

—lowers the tiara. Inspects it more thoroughly, running her fingers over the surface in search of secrets. The inside of the band is studded with tiny gemstones, set to rest against the wearer's head, but apart from that nothing else jumps out at her. She wishes she could see magic.

"Is this thing dangerous?"

"No. Please put it on; I promise it will help."

It's a powerful magic item, and Gwen truly believes she's doing you a favor by loaning it to you. Counterpoint: don't.

Hmm. Does she have any other thoughts on the headband, perhaps less cryptic ones?

Ask her for a magic belt instead.

Any other useful thoughts on the headband?

Ask her for a magic belt instead.

Ask her for a magic belt instead.