With every passing second, the sword escapes further. The boy is about 400 meters away -- you'd have to break into a sprint to stand a chance of catching up to him. Fortunately, your abilities are far from equal. You grasp the invisible tethers that bind your sword to your soul, tugging them toward you without holding back.
You expected him to let go, but he refuses to give up so easily. Eventually, you're dragging him, slipping and sliding, toward you as your sword's tether contracts. You start to sprint toward his direction, and eventually the two of you collide in the center. You smash into him with great speed, knocking the both of you to the ground and coating your clothes in mud.
Twisting the sword free from his clenched hands, you return it to its rightful place amongst the others, on your belt. Judging from the size of the boy's body, he's likely no older than twelve. You briefly consider decapitating him, you know, for practice, but decide against it at the last minute. Instead, you'll let him off with a stern warning.
"Listen, you contemptible ruffian. I don't stand for thieves!" you shout. He responds by trying to squirm away, out from underneath you. You put a stop to his futile resistance with a sharp blow to the face. His head batters against the muddy cobblestone road, and you're fairly sure he's unconscious. He'll be feeling that for days.
As you stand, you notice your trousers are even dirtier than before. They're completely covered in mud! You shoot an angry glance at the child's unconscious body before continuing on your way toward the town square. The streets are remarkably empty, free of passers-by. Probably for the best.
The voyage to the town hall is uneventful, and you arrive in a few minutes. Before you stands a large stone building, situated atop stairs of granite. The door is wide enough for three men to pass through, tall enough for a giant. You stroll in with confidence, your heart and mind set on hunting criminal scum. The interior is no less spectacular, a room of smooth-feeling stone and many treasures adorning the walls. A single receptionist clears his throat, mildly annoyed by your tracking of mud throughout the polished halls.
"Excuse me, how can I help you?"
Status: Sopping wet and coated in mud. And blind. Have a 'thing for swords'.
Abilities: Telekinetic. Can lift small objects and also swords. Swordsmage. Can hear the whispers of the blades and maybe cast some magic. You think you've forgotten most of the magic you learned, though. Can 'feel' the surroundings (this replaces vision and is unaffected by darkness.)
Inventory: Three swords hang from your belt. You also have a rope.