Sacred Haven of Debauchery Auto-translated

By the way, the previous image had a certain meaning in its caption, as it represented the opposite in my view.

Wow, there's a lot of spam here today, especially for a weekend.
It's depressing.
I can barely imagine what it's like here on weekdays.
Is it like this every day?

No, there are exceptions.

What was that about in the sauna thread? Did I miss something interesting?

Another smart aleck:
/post/425909/

I missed it too. (I did two lessons today! And I spent an hour in Archet, looking for that damn wolf den -_- although, I had to kill them there. It turned out that it wasn't a den at all, but some guy who controls the wolves and attacks villages. And I killed myself(( But I got experience! I remember that in Gothic, you could get experience for killing yourself, but only once per game! And the amount of experience you get depends on the level of the character you kill, i.e., the later you kill yourself, the more experience you get.

Does anyone remember approximately when the "Expeditions" section disappeared?

No one remembers when the "Expeditions" section disappeared approximately?

Nothing could be simpler!

So, can anyone tell me if I should change my avatar or not?

Change.

A group of people who first type, and then realize they are typing in English and have to retype everything.

The group has 834,340 members.

834,340 people who don't know how to touch-type.

What is an Archet?

/post/187494/

834340 people who can’t type without looking at the keyboard.

And so what, I can’t either.
And sometimes, I type up to two sentences on the English keyboard layout.
But this happens very rarely, because usually I type semi-blindly, glancing at the monitor every half-word.

Archet is a small town northeast of Bree. In Tolkien’s original work, it probably doesn’t exist (not for sure), but it does exist in LOTRO.

I start typing by looking at the keyboard, and then I don't look anymore. That's why I sometimes write the first word in English.

Clear.

Rome was a theocratic dictatorship, but it was ruled not by Jesus Christ, but by lust. The lust for gold, property, beauty, fornication, food, and wine, the lust for titles, position, and influence, for intrigue and betrayal, and above all, for power. Unbridled lust in a myriad of forms—more than anywhere else in the world. Even piety was in demand and sold alongside other commodities. Unlike the industrial north or the Spanish domains in the south, Rome was a place of idleness, both among the hordes of beggars scavenging through the slums like toothless dogs, and among the insatiable legions of the wealthy in their luxurious palazzos. Vast sums of money—milked from believers in all corners of the Christian world, borrowed from the rising class of international bankers, and extracted from the rural economy through papal taxes—poured into Rome's maw in an endless bacchanal of carnal indulgence. Churches and cathedrals were theaters displaying art worthy of bathhouses and brothels: the genitals and buttocks of lustful sodomites were depicted on every wall. Martyrs, resembling boy-lovers, writhed in lascivious torments—these perverted fantasies were supposedly meant to inspire a pious spirit. Cardinals, barely twenty years old and barely able to recite a blessing without stumbling, strolled along the Via della Pallacorda—from the tennis court to the gambling den, from the gambling den to the brothel, and back—escorted by brazen gangs of hairy, thuggish bravos. In a city that could not boast a single major guild or craft, where shoeing a horse was a difficult task, only one business flourished—prostitution, and with it, the widespread prevalence of French disease and anal pustules; every girl with beautiful eyes and every boy with smooth skin seemed destined to end up on a semen-soaked mattress. Outside the city, a whole army of brigands—unemployed soldiers, dispossessed tenants, criminals of all kinds left over from the Franco-Spanish wars—ravaged the villages. And beyond the high Alpine passes, the poisonous sea of Protestantism lapped at the shores of the papal throne—Calvinists, Lutherans, Waldensians, Anabaptists, heretics of all kinds and varieties.