Grosse Katzick the Fifth!

As the Zentan skirmishing proceeds apace, Nabstrian casualties, like the Burgrave himself after too much to drink, mount slowly. 

(Below) On the Nabstrian right, some dismal rallying does little to improve matters for General von Rumpfler's forces. The Zentan irregular cavalry begins to threaten the flanks of the Nabstrian horsed regiments by crowding forwards into a nearby marsh. Other troops might be disgusted by their journey into its boggy, muddy, foul-smelling depths. But in the Zentan army, the term 'irregular' denotes not just the general indiscipline of many of the troops, but also their bathing habits. As a result, festering cholera-hive though the marsh might be, the irregulars leave cleaner than when they went in.

In front of the centre and left of the Nabstrian line, the Zentan irregular infantry continue gadding about, taking pot shots at any enemy musketeers that appear taller or stouter than average. Being beyond the range of the Nabstrian muskets, the Zentans have little to fear. General von Rumpfler's situation is beginning to get as sticky as being caught stuck to sticky buns, without one's trousers on. 

Rumpfler decides it is time to try and change the dynamic of the battle. In an attempt to seize the initiative - or at least to seize something less floppy than what he has at the present in his hand  - he gives the orders for an advance! He does not wish to close with the enemy, because the enemy irregulars will simply try to evade; rather, he hopes to bring them within range of his own musketry and inflict some losses upon them. To the beat of drums, the Nabstrian line advances!

(Above) A rather lamentable exchange of volleys ensues, distinguishable from a pillow fight only because not all of the Nabstrians are wearing night shirts. The irregulars are unhurt, but several of the Nabstrian regiments are left in various stages of disorder. 

Checking his pocket watch, and worrying about the passage of time, Bulbous decides that it is time to move to a more decisive mode of operation. Seeking to exploit the enemy disorder, and his own special dice, he orders his irregulars to charge! (Below)

He throws his troops forward all across the line. (Below) Even on the Nabstrian right, cheeky Djiveleks, their silly conical yellow hats making them look like gnomes in search of trouble, have a go at the Nabstrian light troops in the wood; and a unit of especially brave mercenary Zentan irregulars decide to ask of Lady Luck the question: 'Why is it that more people don’t order poor quality irregular troops to charge regular enemy infantry positioned in a town'?

Lady Luck can't be bothered to turn up, of course. But Death has, because he has to, and because otherwise he would have to make polite conversation with his apprentice, Cheese. Death eyes up the quality of the mercenary irregulars as they reach the town, and assesses the strength of the defenders' position. Putting aside his scythe, he conjures instead a very large shovel.