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Found 3 results

  1. Marty O'Donnell and Mike Salvatori were at video games live where they brought us a piece of music from the Destiny album Music of the Spheres, they also give us an interview where they both talk about themselves and destiny and answer some questions from the community. Videos uploaded by Datto Does Destiny.
  2. Marty O'Donnell and Mike Salvatori were at video games live where they brought us a piece of music from the Destiny album Music of the Spheres, they also give us an interview where they both talk about themselves and destiny and answer some questions from the community. Videos uploaded by Datto Does Destiny. This post has been promoted to an article
  3. Sorry if this is old but it just dawned that each of the titles of the destiny sound track album "Music of Spheres" (image of names above) may connect to each of the poems from the Alpha Lupi ARG. They also represent each planet from our solar system. The Path/First Poem/Moon The best voices -- voices that truly matter -- never allow themselves to be heard. This lesson is worth learning again and again. Forever. Your voice moves as whispers, murmurs and urges inside larger winds. Only the trusted few can absorb what is necessary. Wise and sly and perfect, your instructions drop, leaving nothing but the hard sweet rime of enlightenment. The path is set. Your voice is unleashed. Except now it is gone... And maybe it never was. The Union/Third Poem/Mercury One face is blistered, the other plunged into a brutal chill. Is this how it's always been? You remember hot oceans, nourishing atmosphere. But something transpired, kicked what was wet and fertile into space, stealing away everything of value. Or perhaps what thrived here for a day or for ten million years decided to leave, peeling its wet organics off the bones. A name offers itself, and another, and a thousand more. The answer feels like the iron heart of a collapsed star, and you realize the union between the past and the future is now. The Ruin/Fifth poem/Venus You see history hidden between the barren rocks and within the high acid clouds. You see ruin emerging from where it has always been, ready to claim its birthright. Sunlight is starved. The fierceness is chilled and thinned, made sweet again. A new ocean emerges, thick and salty and hot, from springs and geysers that drench the dead ground. You wonder: will this world's second breath be its finest? You draw deep inside, seeking direction, truth... But all you have are the riddles of your own intentions. The Tribulation/poem?/Planet? Can't seem to find a connection with this and one of the poems but the poem with Prison could also apply to this. The Rose/Second poem/Mars Life waits inside this world's bones. Your voice flows across the red rock and through the dead valleys, speaking in codes and goads. Ancient volcanoes swell, exploding at their peaks and splitting wide along their shoulders. Ash clouds blacken the starved air. A fossil ocean of ice softens and collapses; geysers erupt, tall as mountains, throwing up steam and clouds. Every moment matters. And from a great distance, in the midst of a thousand careful disasters, you watch the transformation with your own eyes. The rose has blossomed. The Ecstasy/Fourth poem/Jupiter Even the largest body lets itself be pushed where it needs to be, seduced into nice, warm loving orbits. Persistence is the key. Seafloors transform and then yank themselves skyward, shattering the icy crust as new worlds awaken inside the swirling depths. You build homes of ocean laid over stone; giant and tiny, surrounding this half-born sun ripped by storms and supersonic wind. You deliver your last orders to an army that needs nothing anymore -- not instruction, courage or even prayers -- and then you hide again. In ecstasy they search for you, finding nothing but dense quiet dropping from the stars. The Prison/Sixth Poem/Saturn You have been pushed to this place, for a reason. A cold giant shows its night face to you. Distant moons slide past; icy little comets enslaved by a splendid master. The lightning bolts and high clouds are swept away, and then you burrow into a sea of liquid hydrogen that boils out of the long gash. You put yourself on the perfect trajectory, and for a fraction of an instant you allow yourself the luxury of confidence. Eyes that never close gaze everywhere and at everything. You see them in their hiding places. And they can see you, too. The Hope/Seventh poem/The Sun The blaze sits inside a nest of little worlds, still too distant to share its heat but plainly staring out at you. A face emerges, drawn from plasmas and radiation... There must be meanings in its roar. You listen hard and carefully, and sometimes a lucid melody seems to rise out of random noise, pulling your mind into moments where it seems possible that answers are about to be revealed. Joy builds, and the first hope in ages transforms you. It seems important, even critical, to tell every star from here to the black between the galaxies that you are strong again.
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