It's a nice day in Sigil.
That is, what passes for "Nice " in Sigil and what passes for "Day" in Sigil.
The Grand Bazaar is busy. So many hawkers and customers have come to the markets today that they spill into the surrounding streets and alleyways for blocks. In an intersection on Duskgate road, a small throng of people have gathered. A round of laughter issues from the knot of planars. A few more, walking by on business of their own, pause and come over, wanting to see what the others have found so amusing.
Looking over the shoulders of those at the back, they first see the flash of blades. A familiar sight indeed on the streets of Sigil to blooded cutters, but this time they are three gleeming daggers expertly juggled.
"Now this is where it gets hard, because I can only find three daggers. Can someone in the crowd throw one...WAIT on second thought never mind, I didn't like how that Kaasta in the back smiled when I started to make that suggestion."
There are a few chuckles from the crowd, and the three Kaasta in the back smile and hissingly snicker.
"I know I promised to juggle four blades, but I guess the multiverse has proved me wrong again! Rule of threes has won again!"
The Jester is wearing a stitched-together outfit that looks like the remains of half a dozen other pieces of clothing. He wears a five-limbed jester's hat with five silver bells that jingle jangle as he juggles. In one quick motion he sweeps off his hat and places the brim between his teeth.
"Ff coursh! I f'rgot. I haff a nuffer one. In fy HAT!
He begins juggling all three throwing daggers with one hand as he reaches in his hat and pulls out a three-foot rapier. A middle-aged man walking by, dressed like a wizard from some prime world (conical hat and all), smirks at the jester. Now juggling three throwing daggers and sword, he elicits applause from the crowd.
"Fhere it ish, Stitch's prff 'f 'at inner flaners ish not out 'f touch."
For the finale he flips the blades one by one high in the air and catches them in the hat. Last of all he throws the rapier up into the air so that it comes down point first. It too disappears into the hat. Stitch then takes the hat out of his mouth and bows to the crowd with a flourish.
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"Thank you, hende beings, thank you. Please, hands clapping is a nice sound, but jinx rubbing together makes sweeter music."
He collects a few greens from a couple of patrons, but Sigilans are tight with their jink, especially on the open street.
"For my next trick, I will need the help of someone from the audience. The craftier, the better. In fact more than one would be good. I especially would like someone who can assure the crowd that there is no sorcery invoved in this next trick at all." He sets his hat on the ground and pulls from it a ten-foot wooden ladder. "Heh heh, well, almost none..." He also lifts out (from the knees, not the back) a large wooden coffin. "There we go, that's what I was looking for. Now, who would like to help me out here?