Moryn is the Veyndra power of matter, weight, craft, body, ocean and stone. Moryn made it possible for an idea to become a thing: something that could resist, shelter, age and be touched. Visions show a broad, heavy maker, hard to name as man or woman, dressed for work rather than for a throne. Their black hands shine with filings, mineral dust and seawater, and nearby stone bears the marks of the tool before the blow has fallen.
The maker of weight
The fragments say Moryn folded the first gathered dust into worlds. Mountains are the braces of Moryn's first vessels, the seas are the water used to cool them, and living bodies are the hardest craft of all, because they must stay themselves while always changing.
The one in the middle
Moryn distrusted every absolute in the Making Choir. Law without matter was barren, flame without a vessel ate itself, possibility without decision made nothing, and ending without memory made all craft meaningless. That moderation did not make Moryn gentle. When Varka, the Name-Eater began unmaking living things, it was Moryn who struck first, and the blow is said to have split the Workshop floor and opened the great Gap.
The deepest tales go further. To fill that Gap, Moryn lay down across it and spent their own substance: bones into mountain ranges, blood into seas, the skull lifted as the vault of the sky. The Skeldr sing of a giant slain by the first gods so the world could be built from his body. The few stories told by the jötnar themselves disagree. No one slew the first giant, they say. "She lay down."
Echoes
If this is true, it is why creation is material rather than purely divine, and why bodies are both sacred and breakable. The jötnar keep something of Moryn's scale, the Vanir the fertility of earth and sea, and every maker the dignity of good work.
The Stonebound know nothing of Moryn by name. Yet their oldest hammer rhythms hold a pause in the very meter of a forbidden Veyndra fragment, and they keep one rule without a story behind it: never strike in the pause.