Whilst governance of the mere had been resolved through the formation of the Councils of Mork, as the populace grew yet further their encampments around the Voidskulkas Deepmere Shrine could not provide appropriate shelter through even the comparatively temperate seasons of Ghyran. Thoughts turned once more to the dream that had been Skumfenn Sump, a Plunderpost City built from the scraps of fallen civilisations to provide safe harbour for the Grot populace that now occupied the Ghoulmere. Yet the scar of the ruins of their first attempt still stung keen, to none more so than their chosen leader whose literal scars of its fall had robbed him of sight and left curse mark upon his flesh. Debates raged among the Councils of Mork, with many councillors falling to “debating knives” as they had come to be called whilst snarlfang scouts prowled the shadowy regions of the mere seeking ruins that could afford suitable foundation for a new city. 

It would be wing, not fang however that provided the means to end the bloodshed of a prolonged council debate. Flybosses had made refuge in the canopies above the Voidskulkas shrine long ago and they knew the treetops better than any others within the regions. In distant corners of the Mere bound down by heavy vine and rusted chain hung floating rock islands that had once been free to roam the Mere. Dispatching hundreds of grots with axes better suited for fungal harvest the liberation of the rock islands took many seasons, but as the last chain fell into the quagmire of below the flocks of the Flybosses tethered to their new prize painstakingly towed them back to the Deepmere Refuge. 

The issue with Skumfenn Sump was (allegedly) that it was stuck in one place, once a foe discovered it there could be no concealment nor cunning to prevent their return and conquest.   But these new islands could provide refuge the ground had denied them, fortresses built around naturally levitating stone islands that could be towed deep into regions of the marsh that others would fear to tread. The engineers, innovators and woods-grots of the tribes salvaged what they could from wrecks and ruins of the marshlands to create Flotsam Fortresses, strongpoints around the islands with vine bridges strung between them to afford ease of transport. Should these new fortresses find themselves beset they could sever the bridges and scatter in different directions to prevent any one foe conquering the city in its entirety.

Naming ingenuity is not among the finer traits of the Grots, and as the last plank of rotting wood was hammered into the floating fortress city Nazzig named it Skumfenn Sump once more, invoking the name that had drawn his Gitmob ancestors to the region in a ceremony marked with the pomp and grandeur befitting the Monarch of the Mere. At the heart of each fortress a well was carved deep into the rock, filled with buckets of the oily waters of the Deepmere under the watchful eye of the Voidskulka. This shifting blackened mass coursed and flowed as unnatural beating heart of the city and would allow his sightless eyes to track each fortress as it shifted through the mere from his shrine. 

Vast arrays of cages are strung along the cliffs edges of Skumfenn Sump the risen, the growls of discontent resonating from their mounts only drowned out by the howls of agony in the freshly re-forged fighting pits at their heart. Staples of the gitmob culture that had for so long been forsaken could be pursued with the rigour they deserved, so too could the hunt as Flotsam fortresses could scout far closer to the edge of the mere to dispatch hunting parties for meat once more. A fresh supply of meat and fungus to supplement the diet of grubs they had become accustomed to has provided a life not of plenty but adequate sustenance which for a grot would once have been considered a luxury beyond hope. 

The fortress city of Greywater Fastness manufactures and distributes a huge percentage of the armouries of the Cities of Sigmar, its smoke belching factories and might wall cannonades have become synonymous with the name Greywater and the Ghoulmere. Whilst its position within Ghyran is of strategic importance the Ghoulmere isolates the city and provides precious little by way of safe means to ferry their arms caravans from the factory city to their armies across the greater Realms. An acrimonious relationship with the Sylvaneth guardians of the region has afforded the city but a single road by which to travel their shipments, The One Road that cuts comparatively safe journey through the Ghoulmere avoiding many of the more treacherous regions. 

The One Road might be the safest route but it is far from safe, to travel such a predictable route affords raiders foresight of the journeys of their prize allowing plenty of time to establish traps and ambushes at choke points in the journey. Despite increasingly robust guard contingents for their shipments much of the armoury of the Ghoulmere has been garnered through raids on the caravans, relying on rapid strikes before retreating with anything they could carry back into the Mere where no sane man would follow. What is to the growing forces of the Mere valuable armament is but a rounding error on the pay sheets of Greywater, often worth less than the cost of pursuing the raiders than to simply write off the caravan and dispatch another. 

So prevalent are the stolen armaments that new ranks within the tribes of the Ghoulmere began to arise, pyromaniac grots obsessed with the thunderous explosions of blackpowder and the stench of burnt skin and cloth birthed the Shotbosses. Responsible for the assessment, maintenance and safe storage of the stolen weapons the obsessions of these maniacal grots lead them to seek out ever larger explosions to chase a rapidly fading thrill. Those who live long enough become masters of their craft, those that fall do so in a glorious death others could only hope to emulate. 

Shotboss Junkers instead fall prey to the desire to have “stuff”, they lack the thirst for explosions but instead delight in what holds little value to other grots. Seized tools, precious metals, gems and schematics are bundled on their form never put down for fear another junker will claim the loot as their own. Bartering between Junkers and the war chiefs often becomes vicious as tool needed to sustain the gunbeast are jealously hoarded

Sustained raids, always out of view of the wall cannons of the fortress city have allowed the Shotbosses of the Ghoulmere to accrue blackpowder weaponry in large quantities. The comparatively slight form of the Grots and the less than stable footing of the Mere forced them to innovate its application to swamp warfare, mounting their own braces of Fusil Cannons atop Sloggoth canopies with a single grot lighting the fuses on handfuls of guns at any one time in a blistering bombardment of shot to anything in their forward arcs. Some of these Sloggoths, known to the Grots as Ironhail for the blast impact of their weapons fire, mount crows nests to become the personal transport of Shotbosses, conducting the fire of their companions with lit torch in an ear aching symphony. 

With the integration of the Underminas into the forces of the Ghoulmere the grots have a steady supply of raw materials and stolen Skaven weaponry flooding from the mines of Realmsedge Mountains. The dependance on Greywater for weaponry, once thought vital to the life of the Ghoulmere Grots is beginning to wean off. Though many Shotbosses refuse to handle the less stable Skaven weapon designs they can for the first time anticipate resupply through the hidden Blacksmoke Road through the mere to Realmsedge. To sustain this flow the pillaging of the caravans of Greywater have taken a darker turn, no longer content to steal weapons and powder the caravans of engineers and scholars have since been beset, their guards butchers and the occupants sent to Realm edge on slavers ships to toil in the workshops.