GameSpot called Avowed "woefully balanced" and still gave it a 6/10.

First, let us examine the measurement device: GameSpot's review spends several paragraphs describing a game with forgettable companions, squandered story hooks, stingy progression, repetitive combat barks, and balance so broken the reviewer literally calls it "woefully balanced." Then the score arrives as a 6, like a paramedic declaring the patient "mostly fine" while the ambulance is actively on fire. The math aint mathing.

The review's internal ledger is a spreadsheet goblin crime scene. "The broader strokes of the story [are] largely forgettable" goes in the minus column. "Uninteresting companions" goes in the minus column. "Persistent frustration" goes in the minus column wearing a little hard hat. Then somehow the final number pops out as 6/10, which is what happens when your calculator is made of soup and your rubric is a carnival scale operated by a raccoon.

The most impressive part is how the review keeps identifying systemic problems and then treating them like charming weather. Scarce resources prevent experimentation, gear upgrades strangle build variety, checkpointing wastes time, late-game combat becomes tedious — but the prose keeps politely stepping around the corpse like it's a rug at a dinner party. If a reviewer says the game advertises creative freedom and then punishes you for using it, that is not a footnote. That is the thesis wearing a sandwich board and screaming outside the courthouse.

A 6/10 can mean "flawed but worthwhile," sure. But this particular 6 reads like GameSpot found a burning spreadsheet, circled the word "promise," and submitted it as accounting. The review is useful in spite of the score, not because of it: the text says "buyer beware," the number says "eh, maybe," and together they form a lighthouse reviewed by a moth. We give this review a 3/10 for diagnosing the disease and then prescribing lukewarm vibes.