Since I can't draw anything worth crap, I'll write culture stories then. (Thanks for the advice, everyone!)
Here's one (it's a bit long, it just started to flow):
Savalyaru was on his way to the library. It was a new library, since this town was fairly new - one of the government-sponsored fishing towns along the coast - but it got a library since according to the statisticians it was one of the fastest-growing towns in Emitaru. Out here in the country, it surprised a lot of people that he could read, since he wasn't particularly rich or anything, but pretty much anyone that had lived in Everu at some point knew how to read. It was one of those things you just picked up. Savalyaru remembered one day as a kid, he had seen a man scratching electoral propaganda on a wall, and had asked him what he was writing. The man had said, 'It says "Vote for Kavaru!" Don't forget to tell your parents to!', and walked off. Savalyaru had been interested in the concept of writing ever since, and had been slightly disappointed when he had realized that it was nothing more than an arbitrary assignment of symbols to sounds. But that was ok - the wealth of information it afforded more than made up for it's lack of magicalness.
Wealth of information, if you lived in Everu. Out here, the library was small, and getting smaller - despite the frequent shipments of texts, it was still getting smaller due to its inability to easily keep track of books. At the moment, checking out books under fake names and then selling them was an unfortunately viable way of making a living (another detriment to living in a small town was that the police were rarely competent). Ah well - what he could get at least passed the time, and the librarians had come to love him for actually returning his books.
At the moment he was returning Various Poems by Fourth-Century Authors, a bit of a long anthology, but interesting nonetheless. He didn't know what he might find to check out, he was hoping they still had Ösjikaru's A Grammar of Acolhnahuacatahkushtal, hopefully no one had stolen it yet. If he got lucky, he might splurge and check out two - not that the fee was very large, but two at once was just a bit much for a fisherman trying to sell his catch in a town where that was the basis of the local economy. Whatever he found, though, he would be happy - even the dryest text on agriculture was interesting on days when the fish weren't biting.
The library was now just around the corner. He reached it, walked up the steps, and opened the door.