Malog would nod. It was time. It was time to show the eye tyrant that its plans, its genius? Its vast alien intelligence and supernatural powers that inspired terror in those that had to fight them? All of that meant nothing in the face of overwhelming violence. For when the tide rose, did it care that it devoured and swept away the labor and joy of hours?
No, it did not. It swept the beach clean, it destroyed and eroded, it took another tiny bite out of the land that had endured for epochs because that is what it did and they were there. It was time to let slip the shackles and masks, the false skin of civilization and enlightenment.
With a bloody roar to shake the foundations of the dungeon, he would gesture, he would march, he would move towards where they said the eye creature was.
For it was no longer the time to talk. It was time to wage war.